Victor drove me back to New York that night. The city lights blurred through the car window as I pressed my forehead against the glass, too tired to cry again. When we arrived, my parents were waiting by the door. I had hoped they would welcome me with open arms, but their expressions were a mix of worry and confusion.
My dress clung tightly to me as I stood there, holding back tears. Without a word, I walked past them and went straight to my room. Miguel quietly took my luggage from Victor, while Sophia carried them upstairs. I didn't want to speak to anyone. I just wanted silence.
After a while, my mother came to tell me that Victor had left. My father knocked on the door softly and stepped inside.
"It's okay, honey. Pull yourself together," he said gently, placing a plate of food on my table.
"I'm not hungry," I whispered, turning away.
Not long after, my phone rang—it was Victor. My heart sank. I stared at the screen before answering, wishing I hadn't.
Days turned into a week. I tried to distract myself, turning on the TV one afternoon. The art channel replayed the finale of the competition—the one I had failed. They were still talking about the new logo design that hadn't been revealed. My father sat beside me.
"It's obvious you should have won," he said softly, resting a hand on my shoulder. His kindness made my chest ache.
By Monday morning, I forced myself to return to work. Stephen and my colleagues greeted me with warm smiles. Even my boss seemed pleased to see me. They had approved one of my projects on first glance—it was the only thing that made me feel slightly alive again.
Later that evening, I was behind the counter when a voice said, "A cup of coffee, please."
With my head lowered, the tone sounded so much like his that my heart skipped. I looked up—only to see a stranger.
"Here's your coffee," I said, forcing a smile. Still, the ache in my chest wouldn't leave.
I turned to grab something from my bag when Stephen called out, "Elena! Someone's here to see you!"
My stomach tightened. I thought it would be Victor—maybe to apologize, maybe to argue again.
But when I walked out, it was Nathan.
He sat near the window, his coat unbuttoned, the city's golden light spilling over him. For a few seconds, I just stood there. When he looked up, our eyes met—and the air in the room changed.
"Hey, Elena," he said quietly.
"Shall we leave?"
"My time's not over yet," I tried to make excuses, avoiding his gaze.
He smiled faintly. "It's okay. I already spoke with your boss and Stephen. You're done for the day."
I sighed. "Oh… okay."
The ride was quiet at first. I plucked nervously at my teeth, my mind tangled between anger and relief.
Finally, I broke the silence.
"How's Aria? Your… wife-to-be?"
He glanced at me, his expression tightening. "And how's the guy who almost ruined you?"
I looked away, stung by his tone.
After a pause, his voice softened. "Elena, I know what my mom said that night. It was cruel. I'm sorry. But I meant it when I said I have nothing to do with Aria."
Something in his voice almost made me believe him.
But I whispered, "It doesn't matter. Your family doesn't like me anyway."
Later that night, he insisted on dropping me at home.
When we walked in, Victor was already there. The second he saw Nathan, he stood up.
"What are you doing here?" Victor's voice was sharp, stepping toward him.
Nathan held his ground. "I came to drop her off."
I quickly moved between them before things got worse. I knew Nathan could fight—Victor didn't stand a chance against that kind of rage.
"Victor, calm down," I pleaded.
Nathan sighed. "It's alright, Mr. Miguel. I'm just leaving."
Victor's jaw clenched as he glared at Nathan. "After everything, you still let him walk in here? He made you lose the competition, Elena!"
"It wasn't his fault," I said softly.
Victor looked defeated, stepping back. I sank onto the couch, exhausted and unsure of everything.
From upstairs, Sophia called out with a laugh, "OMG, Nathan is so cute, sis! And to top it all off—he's wealthy!"
I couldn't help but smile faintly, though my heart was too heavy to respond.
That night, my parents sat me down.
"Elena," my father said, "you need to think about yourself. Choose the right one. Don't rush."
My mother nodded. "Before I chose your father, I prayed. He wasn't rich, but he was hardworking and kind. That's why I loved him."
"Thanks, Mom, Dad," I said quietly. "But this is different. His parents don't even like me."
They exchanged a look of concern but said nothing more.
The next day, messages from both Victor and Nathan filled my phone.
Nathan's text read: I'll be leaving tomorrow, Elena. My parents want me in Chicago.
At work the next morning, I tried to focus, but nothing felt right. Then Stephen shouted from across the room, "Elena, someone's waiting outside for you!"
I turned—and there he was. Nathan.
For the first time in weeks, my world brightened.
He smiled. "You said you'd see me before I left."
I nodded, unable to stop the tears from stinging my eyes.
We went to a nearby restaurant. I joked, "You still haven't changed the new logo. Why's that?"
He smiled faintly. "My parents haven't decided yet."
Then suddenly, a shadow fell over the table.
Victor.
Without a word, he poured his drink across Nathan's face.
"Victor!" I gasped.
Nathan rose slowly, jaw tight. "What are you doing?"
"Who is this Elena to you?" Nathan demanded.
Victor's answer was sharp. "I'm her boyfriend."
The words hit Nathan hard. He turned away and walked out before I could stop him.
I tried calling, texting—nothing. He didn't answer. Days passed.
Victor tried to comfort me, but every word only made the guilt worse.
One month later, I was scrolling through Instagram when I saw a photo of Aria—in Paris—with Nathan. My stomach twisted. I called Victor, crying, apologizing for everything.
Weeks passed before a knock came at my door. When I opened it, Nathan stood there.
"Hi, Elena."
"What are you doing here?" I asked, my voice trembling.
"I came to see you."
"You should've done that a long time ago, Nathan. I waited—but you never came. You were busy with Aria."
He sighed. "Elena, listen. My parents sent me to handle their business in Paris. I couldn't call. I couldn't text."
But I had already closed the door. Behind it, I wept quietly, staring at the engagement ring Victor had slipped onto my finger.
That evening, Victor took me out to dinner.
"You barely touched your food," he said.
"It's nothing," I whispered.
"Are you sure you're okay?"
"Yes, Victor."
Then my phone buzzed. Nathan.
Before I could react, Victor grabbed it. The message read: Hey Elena, we need to talk.
Victor's expression darkened. "So that bastard is in New York. That's why you've been distant."
He leaned back in silence, rage flickering in his eyes.
The next morning, I agreed to meet Nathan—at my workplace, 10 a.m.
When he walked in, dressed simply but carrying that familiar quiet confidence, every heartbeat felt heavy.
"Hey, Elena," he said, sitting across from me.
"You had something you wanted to tell me?"
"No, Nathan. You did."
He smiled sadly. "Then let's say it together."
We counted to three.
"I left my parents' company to be with you," Nathan said.
"I'm engaged to Victor," I said at the same time.
Both of us froze.
Nathan's face went pale.
"Elena, why didn't you tell me sooner?"
"Why would you leave your company just because of me?" I demanded.
"Because I love you," he said softly.
But his voice broke. "And I think I made a mistake."
He stood to leave—just as Victor stormed in.
"Nathan!" Victor shouted. The sound echoed across the shop.
Then came the shot.
The world went silent.
Nathan collapsed, blood spreading across his shirt. I screamed, rushing to him as people scattered. Victor tried dragging me away, yelling, "Let's go! The plane's waiting!"
"Let me go!" I cried, pulling free and kneeling beside Nathan.
His hand reached for mine, trembling.
"Don't… cry," he whispered, his breath shallow.
The sound of sirens filled the street as the police arrived. Victor ran out before they could reach him.
I held Nathan's hand until the ambulance came, refusing to let go.
As they lifted him away, I felt like my heart went with him.
It had only been half a year since the competition—but it felt like a lifetime since I'd last known peace.