From Ocean's Grave To Queen

Fifteen years. That' s how long my fiancé, Blake, and I spent building our empire from nothing. On the night he was supposed to propose, a single phone call shattered our perfect future.

He publicly abandoned me for a young art student, Hayleigh, who then framed me for violent attacks and faked a pregnancy to win his sympathy.

The nightmare ended on a cliff's edge, where our rival forced a choice: save me, or save her.

Blake screamed her name.

Even my own birth parents, tech billionaires who had only just found me, chose her over their own flesh and blood.

As I plunged into the icy ocean, I didn't understand. Why would the man I built a life with, and the family I just found, abandon me for a web of lies?

They all thought I was dead. But two years later, I walked back into Miami, ready to take back my city and burn their world to the ground.

Chapter 1

Eleanor POV:

The proposal should have been perfect. Fifteen years. That's how long it took to build everything, from a single dive bar in Miami's roughest neighborhood to an empire that stretched across the city. Blake and I, we were a force. An unbreakable unit. He was about to ask, publicly, to make it forever. My heart was a drum against my ribs, a joyful beat for a future I thought was finally secure. Then my phone rang.

It was Marco, his voice tight. "Eleanor, you need to get down to the waterfront. Blake... he's lost his mind."

My blood ran cold, a familiar chill that always preceded chaos when Blake was involved. But this time was different. "What are you talking about?"

"It's Hayleigh. That art student. Brock Hawkins is there. It's bad."

I didn't wait for more. I grabbed my keys, the diamond ring I' d picked out for my proposal-a secret I planned to spring on him later that night-still heavy in my pocket. The drive was a blur, my mind racing, trying to piece together Marco' s frantic words. Hayleigh. Brock. Violence. None of it fit the night we had planned.

When I arrived, the scene was a mess. Flashing lights painted the dock in stark reds and blues. Brock Hawkins, our smirking rival, was on the ground, a growing crimson stain spreading on his pristine white shirt. Blake stood over him, fists clenched, a wild, protective fury in his eyes I hadn't seen since our early days, fighting for every inch of turf. But this wasn't for me. This wasn't for us.

He was looking at Hayleigh, who cowered behind him, clutching his arm, her face a mask of terror. Or was it something else? I watched as Brock, despite his injury, spat a taunt. "Protecting your little whore, Griffin? Thought you were a man of taste."

Blake roared, a primal sound of rage, and lunged again. My stomach churned. He was letting himself be humiliated, publicly, for her. I had taken countless slights, endured endless rumors, stood by him through every dirty fight, always with my head high. But he was losing it over this.

I remembered the night I faced down a rival gang leader with a broken bottle, my hand bleeding, just to keep our first bar from being firebombed. Blake had been there, supporting me, proud. Now, he was sacrificing his dignity for a girl who looked barely old enough to drink.

I stepped out of the shadows. "Blake!" My voice was quiet, but it cut through the noise.

He faltered, turning to me, his eyes wide, a flicker of something that looked like guilt. Hayleigh tightened her grip on his arm.

"Let him go," I said, my voice flat. "It's not worth it."

He hesitated, looking between me and the whimpering girl. "Eleanor, I-"

"Just go," I finished, my gaze hard. "Take her. Get out of here." My heart felt like a lead weight in my chest. He chose her. He chose her without a second thought.

He scooped Hayleigh into his arms, a possessive gesture that twisted the knife deeper. He walked away without another word, leaving me to deal with the aftermath, the flashing cameras, the snide remarks of Brock's goons. They knew. Everyone knew.

I followed them, a ghost in my own life, my car a silent shadow behind his. He drove to our first apartment, the place we' d poured every drop of our sweat and hope into. The place he' d promised me he would never change.

But it was unrecognizable. My PI' s report, delivered to my phone moments earlier, confirmed it. Renovated. Stripped of every memory, every trace of us. He'd erased me. He'd erased us. For her. The report also detailed her "amnesia" after a car accident, a convenient story that now felt like a cruel joke.

He carried her inside, carefully, gently. I watched the door close, a final, definitive click on a chapter of my life. I lit a cigarette, the smoke bitter in my lungs, just like the taste of betrayal. I stood there for a long time, the glow of the cigarette butt the only warmth in the cold, empty night.

The media, of course, had a field day. "Hospitality King Blake Griffin Sacrifices All for Mysterious Art Student." The headlines screamed, portraying me as the discarded, ruthless businesswoman. Blake, the valiant hero. Hayleigh, the innocent victim.

I didn't respond. I just went to our shared penthouse, the one that screamed "success" but now felt hollow. The next morning, I had already contacted my lawyers. I wanted nothing. Not a dime of our empire, not a single property. I would walk away clean.

Later that week, I overheard Blake talking to Marco. His voice was low, almost dismissive. "Eleanor will come back. She always does. She knows she needs me. And honestly, Hayleigh... she' s just so pure, so uncomplicated. Eleanor was always too much. Too strong. Too... me."

My blood ran cold. Too much. Too strong. Too me. The words echoed in my head, a final, brutal confirmation. He didn't see my strength as a partner, but as a competition.

I pushed open the door to his office, the signed papers for the complete transfer of my half of the properties-my entire life's work-crumpled in my hand. He looked up, startled, then a smug smile touched his lips. "Eleanor, I knew you'd reconsider."

I ripped the papers in half, letting the pieces flutter to the floor between us like fallen snow. My voice was a whisper, but it cut through the silence. "You think you know me, Blake? You haven't seen anything yet."

He watched me, his face slowly draining of color, as I turned and walked out. I didn't look back.