"Try this one on?" Harper said, holding up a crisp white tennis set and thrusting it toward Elena.
They were at one of Harper's private boutiques—glass walls, soft lighting, mirrors everywhere. The kind of place where nothing on the racks had price tags because no one who shopped there ever needed to ask.
Elena eyed the outfit. A fitted crop top paired with a dangerously short pleated skirt. Cute—yes. Practical—absolutely not.
"It's cute," Elena said slowly, turning the hanger side to side, "but I think it's going to be too snug."
Harper scoffed. "That's the point. Snug is sexy."
Before Elena could protest, Harper shoved the set into her hands, grabbed her shoulders, and physically steered her toward the fitting rooms. "Go. Try it on."
Elena sighed but complied.
A minute later, she stepped out of the fitting room—and instantly regretted it.
The crop top clung far too tightly, especially around her chest, offering little room to breathe and even less room to ignore the way it drew attention. The skirt barely qualified as one, resting scandalously high on her thighs. One wrong move and it would become a headline.
She glanced at her reflection, unimpressed. "See? Too snug," she muttered.
Harper's eyes lit up like she'd just unwrapped a gift. "Nonsense. You look insanely hot."
Elena opened her mouth to argue, but Harper was already pulling out her phone.
"I'm calling my photographer," Harper said cheerfully. "He'll be at the match. When the internet sees you in this, people are going to lose their minds."
Elena forced a smile. Saying no to Harper was pointless. And if she spoke honestly right now, the words that would come out might shock them both.
"Alright," Harper clapped her hands. "Let's go play some tennis."
They left the boutique moments later. As they reached the car, Harper suddenly stopped, spun around dramatically, and fixed Elena with a suspicious look.
"Please tell me you actually know how to play tennis," she said. "And that this outfit wasn't all for nothing."
"I can play," Elena replied flatly.
She didn't add that she was more than good. That she had trained relentlessly for years. That she could have gone professional if her life hadn't narrowed into one single goal—revenge of the death of her parents.
Harper nodded, satisfied. "Good. Because my family is insanely competitive. We lost last month and Grandma was furious. We cannot lose again."
The drive back to the estate was quiet. Once there, they changed and regrouped downstairs before getting back into the car again.
"The courts are this way," Harper said casually.
Elena blinked when the drive stretched on. Ten minutes passed. Then more.
The estate was enormous.
When they finally arrived, Elena realized Harper hadn't exaggerated—not even a little.
The tennis court was massive, pristine, and clearly prepared for an event rather than a casual game. Staff moved efficiently across the grounds, offering drinks, arranging seating, adjusting umbrellas. Everything was immaculate.
Under a long stretch of white canopies sat an audience dressed head to toe in expensive whites—linen suits, silk dresses, oversized sunglasses, diamonds catching the sunlight. Laughter floated through the air, refined and sharp, paired with the soft clink of crystal glasses.
It felt less like a tennis match and more like a high-society spectacle.
Eyes began to turn as Elena stepped forward.
She could feel it—the scrutiny, the quiet assessment, the unspoken judgments forming already.
Whatever this was… it wasn't just a game.
"Wow…" Elena murmured, her gaze sweeping over the scene. "Harper, I thought you said it was just your family versus the Wilsons."
Harper waved a dismissive hand. "Yeah. The Wilsons are over there." She pointed toward a sleek, perfectly arranged tent where a striking family sat like royalty—all sharp smiles, tailored whites, and quiet confidence.
"Then who are all these people?" Elena asked, lowering her voice.
Harper rolled her eyes. "We're friends with a lot of rich families, Elena. Try to keep up." She plucked two chilled drinks from a passing server and handed one to Elena. "Come on. Let's go join the rest."
They crossed the manicured grass toward the Armstrong tent, where the family had gathered in immaculate tennis whites—effortlessly glamorous, as if they'd stepped out of a magazine shoot rather than onto a court.
All of them were there.
All except Xander.
Elena noticed immediately.
She wondered if he always excluded himself from family events. Harper had mentioned once—almost casually—that he hated people. Watching the group now, Elena suspected it wasn't people he hated. It was them.
Her attention shifted when she spotted Daphne seated comfortably, smiling as though nothing in the world was wrong. Even her frail-looking husband sat beside her, dressed in white, looking healthier than Elena remembered.
Then her eyes landed on Victoria.
Victoria was already staring daggers at her.
"How is your cheek, Mrs. Armstrong?" Elena asked calmly, before Harper could even open her mouth.
Victoria blinked, then smiled instantly, smoothing her expression into something polite and practiced. "It's quite fine, dear. Thanks to my husband's skill, of course." She tilted her head toward Paul, who smiled softly in response.
"I see you're still here, girl," Paul said, turning his attention to Elena. "I thought last night's little fiasco would've scared you off."
Elena met his gaze without flinching. "You'll find I don't scare easily."
The chill in her voice made the air shift. For a brief moment, conversation stalled. Then Elena laughed lightly, as if she hadn't just unsettled everyone present.
"Besides," she added, "I can't go anywhere until I make Harper lots and lots of money."
"And that I know you will," Maddox said smoothly as he stepped closer to her.
Elena stiffened.
Maddox slid an arm around her waist far too comfortably. "You'll be playing tennis with us today, right? You sure dressed the hell of the part." His gaze swept over her body shamelessly.
Elena calmly removed his hand. "I will play," she said evenly, "if it's not intrusive." Her eyes flicked briefly toward the rest of the family.
"Not at all," Paul said with a chuckle. "But we should warn you—it gets pretty competitive. Hope you're not worried about breaking a nail… or that pretty little face."
It sounded almost like a threat.
Elena smiled. "I'll be fine."
"Good," Maddox said, reclaiming her waist. "You'll be my partner."
"Ah—no." Harper stepped in immediately, planting herself between them. "We're always partners. And you'll be up against the Wilson twins. You have no idea how good she is—we can't afford to lose."
"We'll take the Wilson twins," Maddox countered. "You partner up with Mum and take out the elder brother and the cousin."
"I can't partner with Mum," Harper said impatiently. "She has to play with Dad. Uncle Ryan and Aunt Helen are already assigned too."
"Then just sit this one out," Maddox said dismissively, his smirk widening. "Let's see what Elena Charles is capable of."
"Yeah," a deep voice cut in, low and unmistakable. "Let's see what she's capable of."
Every head turned.
Xander stepped into the tent.
For a moment, everything else faded.
He was dressed simply—white tennis shorts and a fitted white shirt—but on him, simplicity looked dangerous. The fabric pulled slightly across his chest and arms, outlining lean muscle without effort. He was tall, broad-shouldered, his movements unhurried and controlled. His hair was a little longer than fashion dictated, falling just enough to soften the sharp angles of his face. And his eyes—
Dangerously cold and grey.
They locked onto Elena immediately.
"Xander, darling," Victoria said, standing at once and gliding toward him. "What are you doing here? You never play." She placed a hand flat against his chest, possessive.
Elena watched Xander's jaw tighten.
Slowly, deliberately, he removed Victoria's hand—as if her touch disgusted him.
"I never play," Xander said coolly. "But I want to today."
His eyes never left Elena.
"And I want her," he added quietly, "to be my partner."
Maddox let out a sharp laugh, breaking the tension.
"Seriously?" he said, turning fully toward Xander. "You don't even play, and suddenly you want her as your partner?"
Xander didn't look at him. His eyes stayed on Elena, unreadable. "That's what I said."
Maddox scoffed. "Yeah, I heard you. I'm just trying to figure out when you decided you get to walk in and take whatever you want."
Xander's gaze slid to his brother. "I don't take," he said quietly. "I choose."
"Oh, please," Maddox snapped. "You think you can just snap your fingers and she's yours? She was already playing with me."
Elena stiffened at that, disgust flickering across her face.
Victoria's glare burned straight through Elena now, sharp and venomous, like this was somehow her fault.
"This is ridiculous," Victoria said coldly. "Xander, my love, please don't cause a scene because of her."
Xander ignored her.
Maddox stepped closer, lowering his voice. "You always do this," he muttered. "You don't want things until someone else does."
Xander smiled faintly. It didn't reach his eyes. "Careful."
"Oh, I'm not scared of you," Maddox said, puffing up, though his shoulders were tense. "This isn't your playground. This is a family event."
"In that case," Xander replied evenly, "you should remember who you're talking to."
Maddox's jaw clenched. "Or what?"
For a split second, it looked like Xander might actually hit him.
Their bodies were too close now. Chest to chest. The air between them crackled, thick and dangerous. A few people nearby had gone silent, sensing it.
Victoria sucked in a sharp breath. "Paul—"
"That's enough," Paul barked, stepping between them before fists could fly. He placed a firm hand on Maddox's chest, pushing him back. "Do not forget yourself."
Maddox bristled. "You've got to be kidding me—"
"You will show your brother respect," Paul cut in sharply. "Whether you like it or not, Xander is Xander. And you," he added pointedly, "should learn your place."
The words landed hard.
Maddox stared at Paul in disbelief, then flicked his gaze to Xander—burning with resentment. "Fine," he muttered. "Take her."
Victoria's nails dug into her palm.
Xander didn't respond. He simply turned away, the confrontation already beneath him.
He walked toward Elena.
As he stopped in front of her, his eyes dropped—not to her face, but to her neck.
Elena felt it immediately. His gaze lingered where his fingers had bruised her skin days ago.
Something dark flashed through his expression. Satisfaction? Guilt? Possession?
Then he looked back up at her and smiled.
It was slow. Infuriatingly calm.
"Ready to play?" he asked.
Elena just stared at him.
She didn't move. Didn't smile. Didn't answer right away.
All she could think was why.
Why him? Why now? And why did it feel like stepping onto that court with Xander Armstrong meant stepping straight into something she wouldn't be able to walk away from?