Chapter 8 Picking Up the Pieces

Two weeks had passed since the park. Two weeks of tentative phone calls and carefully planned dates in quiet restaurants where no one would recognize them. Two weeks of rebuilding trust one honest conversation at a time.

Elena stood behind the bar at The Velvet Room, mixing a martini for a regular customer, when she noticed the woman sitting alone in booth twelve. The same booth where Alex had sat that first Wednesday night.

The woman was beautiful in that expensive, untouchable way that only came from generations of wealth. Blonde hair perfectly styled, designer suit, posture that screamed finishing school and country clubs. She was staring directly at Elena with an expression that was calculating rather than friendly.

Elena's stomach dropped. She knew exactly who this was.

When her shift allowed a break, she made her way to the booth. Better to face this head-on than let it fester.

"Victoria Ashford," Elena said, not making it a question.

"Elena Morrison." Victoria gestured to the seat across from her. "Sit. Please."

"I'm working."

"Your coworker already told your manager you're taking your break. Sit."

There was steel beneath the polite words. Elena sat.

They studied each other in silence. Elena refused to be intimidated by the designer clothes or the perfectly applied makeup or the casual confidence of someone who'd never worried about money a day in her life.

"You're prettier than the photos," Victoria said finally. "I can see why he's infatuated."

"If you came here to insult me-"

"I came to warn you." Victoria leaned forward slightly. "My family is not happy about the broken engagement. My mother specifically is making it her personal mission to destroy Alexander's reputation and, by extension, yours."

"Why are you telling me this?"

"Because despite what you probably think, I'm not a villain in some romance novel. I don't love Alex. He doesn't love me. We were pawns in our parents' business arrangements." Victoria's expression was unreadable. "But I understand what it's like to have your life controlled by family expectations. And I wouldn't wish the Ashford family's particular brand of revenge on anyone."

Elena's throat tightened. "What kind of revenge?"

"The media kind. Stories about your brother's illness, speculation about you being a gold-digger, photographs of you at your worst moments blown up and analyzed by strangers. My mother has connections at every major publication in the city." Victoria paused. "They're planning to run a feature next week. 'The Bartender Who Broke Up a Dynasty' or some such dramatic nonsense."

"Can they do that? Just print lies about people?"

"They don't need lies when the truth is damaging enough. You are a bartender. Alex did break off our engagement. You do have a sick brother requiring expensive treatment that Alex is funding. Those are all facts that can be arranged to look... unflattering."

Elena felt sick. She'd known media attention was coming, but hearing it laid out so clearly made it real in a way it hadn't been before.

"Why help me?" she asked. "If your family wants revenge-"

"Because I know what it's like to love someone and not be allowed to have them." Victoria's mask slipped for just a moment, showing something raw beneath. "And because maybe if you and Alex can actually make this work, it means the rest of us trapped by family obligation aren't completely doomed."

Before Elena could respond, Victoria stood, smoothing her skirt with practiced elegance.

"One more thing," Victoria said. "Alexander's mother is planning something. I don't know what exactly, but Margaret Hartley doesn't accept defeat gracefully. Whatever she offers you, whatever she threatens, remember that she's very good at making people believe they're choosing freely when really they're just doing what she wanted all along."

"I'm not afraid of his mother."

"You should be. She's spent forty years perfecting the art of destroying anyone who threatens her vision of the Hartley legacy." Victoria pulled out a business card, placed it on the table. "If you need help when she makes her move-and she will-call me. Enemy of my enemy and all that."

She walked out, leaving Elena staring at the business card and trying to process what had just happened.

Ruby appeared at her elbow moments later. "Was that who I think it was?"

"The ex-fiancée? Yes."

"What did she want?"

"To warn me. About the media, about Alex's mother." Elena pocketed the card. "She seemed almost... human."

"Rich people don't get to be human when they're destroying your life," Ruby said firmly. "Don't trust her, Ellie."

"I don't. But I think she was telling the truth about the article."

Her phone buzzed. Alex: *Dinner tonight? I want to talk to you about something important.*

Elena's stomach twisted with anxiety. Important conversations lately seemed to only bring bad news.

*Okay. Your place at 8?*

*Perfect. I'll cook.*

*You cook?*

*I can order from places that cook. Close enough.*

Despite everything, she smiled.

---

Alex's penthouse smelled like Italian food when Elena arrived that evening. He'd set the dining table with actual plates instead of eating on the couch, and there were candles that seemed excessive for a Wednesday night.

"This feels formal," Elena said, setting down her bag.

"Not formal. Just... nice." He pulled her into a hug, and she let herself relax into his warmth. "I wanted tonight to feel special."

"Why? What's wrong?"

"Nothing's wrong. Can't I just want to have a nice dinner with my girlfriend?"

The word still felt strange. Girlfriend. Like she was in high school instead of twenty-six years old with a terminally ill brother and a dead-end job.

They ate pasta from a restaurant Elena couldn't pronounce the name of, drank wine that probably cost more than her rent, and talked about nothing important. Alex told her about a disastrous board meeting where one of the older members had fallen asleep mid-presentation. She told him about the drunk customer who'd tried to propose to Ruby with an onion ring.

It was easy and comfortable and almost normal.

Until Alex set down his fork and his expression turned serious.

"I need to tell you something," he said.

Elena's chest tightened. "Okay."

"My mother asked to meet you."

"What?"

"She called me this morning. Said she wants to have lunch with you, just the two of you. To 'get to know the woman who's stolen her son's heart.'" He said the last part with bitter sarcasm.

"That doesn't sound like her wanting to get to know me. That sounds like her wanting to intimidate me."

"Probably. But Elena, she's not going to stop trying to break us up until she's met you and decided you're not a threat. Or confirmed that you are a threat and escalated her efforts." He reached across the table, taking her hand. "You don't have to do this. You can say no, and I'll handle her."

"But you think I should meet her."

"I think it might help. If she sees that you're not some gold-digger trying to manipulate me, that we genuinely care about each other, maybe she'll back off."

Elena thought about Victoria's warning. *Whatever she offers, whatever she threatens, remember she's very good at making people believe they're choosing freely.*

"When does she want to meet?"

"Saturday. Lunch at The Grandeur. It's a-"

"A restaurant I couldn't afford in a million years. Yeah, I figured." Elena pulled her hand back, needing space to think. "What if she offers me money to leave you alone?"

"She might."

"What if she threatens Ollie's treatment funding?"

Alex's jaw tightened. "That money is yours. A loan between you and me. She has no control over it."

"Doesn't she? It came from the family trust, didn't it?"

His silence was answer enough.

"Alex, if your mother can cut off that funding-"

"She won't. I won't let her." He came around the table, kneeling beside her chair so they were eye level. "Elena, whatever my mother says or does or threatens, it doesn't change what I feel about you. It doesn't change that I choose you."

"But if choosing me means Ollie dies-"

"It won't come to that. I promise you, I will not let anything happen to your brother."

She wanted to believe him. God, she wanted to believe that love and determination could protect against someone like Margaret Hartley. But she'd learned the hard way that wanting something didn't make it true.

"I'll meet her," Elena said finally. "But Alex, if she does offer me money or make threats, I need to be able to tell you. No secrets, remember?"

"No secrets," he agreed. "Whatever happens, we face it together."

They spent the rest of the evening curled up on his couch, watching a movie neither of them paid attention to. Elena kept thinking about Saturday, about facing the woman who'd spent thirty years perfecting the art of destroying threats to her family's legacy.

She'd survived her parents' death and three years of keeping Ollie alive on hope and stubbornness. Surely she could survive lunch with Margaret Hartley.

But as Alex's breathing evened out beside her and the city lights glittered below them, Elena couldn't shake the feeling that she was walking into a trap she couldn't see yet.

And that by the time she saw it, escape would be impossible.

---

Margaret Hartley arrived at The Grandeur precisely at noon on Saturday, because punctuality was a virtue and making others wait was a power play she didn't need. She'd dressed carefully for this meeting-Chanel suit, understated jewelry, the kind of elegance that whispered old money rather than shouting new wealth.

The girl was already there, sitting at the table Margaret's assistant had reserved. Margaret took a moment to study her before approaching.

Elena Morrison was prettier than her photographs suggested, with expressive eyes and the kind of natural beauty that didn't require expensive maintenance. She'd dressed well for someone of her means-a simple navy dress that was probably the nicest thing she owned. Her posture was straight, chin up, meeting Margaret's gaze directly instead of looking away.

Pride. Margaret recognized it because she'd once possessed it herself before forty years of marriage and motherhood had beaten it into something harder, sharper.

"Elena," Margaret said, settling into her chair with practiced grace. "Thank you for meeting me."

"Did I have a choice?"

"Everyone has choices. Whether they're good choices is another matter entirely." Margaret ordered sparkling water without looking at the menu. "I assume Alexander told you I wanted to meet?"

"He did. He also told me you're going to try to pay me to leave him alone."

Margaret allowed herself a small smile. "Direct. I appreciate that. Most women in your position would dance around the subject, pretending this is a friendly lunch between potential family members."

"We're not going to be family."

"No," Margaret agreed. "You're not."

The waiter appeared, took their orders, disappeared with efficient discretion. Margaret waited until they were alone again before continuing.

"I'm not going to insult either of us by pretending this is anything other than what it is," she said. "You're a complication my son doesn't need. A distraction from responsibilities he's spent his entire life preparing for."

"I'm a person who loves him. That's not a complication."

"Love is always a complication at our level. It clouds judgment, creates vulnerabilities, makes people act irrationally." Margaret took a sip of her water. "Alexander has obligations that extend beyond personal happiness. Companies to run, legacies to maintain, standards to uphold."

"And I don't fit those standards."

"No. You don't." Margaret said it without malice, simply stating fact. "You're a bartender with no family connections, no wealth, no education beyond high school. Your brother is terminally ill, requiring expensive ongoing treatment that will drain resources for years. You bring nothing to the relationship except emotional attachment."

Elena's hands clenched in her lap, but her voice stayed steady. "Is this the part where you offer me money?"

"This is the part where I explain reality." Margaret leaned forward slightly. "The media story about you runs Monday. By Tuesday, every detail of your life will be public knowledge. Your parents' death, your dropped scholarship, your brother's cancer, your financial struggles. They'll speculate about whether you manipulated Alexander into funding your brother's treatment. They'll question your motives, your character, your worth as a human being."

"Let them."

"Can you really subject your brother to that scrutiny? A sick teenager who needs privacy and peace to heal, suddenly having his illness discussed by strangers? Having photographers following him to treatment?"

Elena's face paled. Margaret felt a twinge of something that might have been guilt if she hadn't spent forty years perfecting emotional control.

"You're a caring sister," Margaret continued. "Alexander told me how hard you've worked to keep your brother alive. How you sacrificed your own dreams and future to care for him. That's admirable. But have you asked yourself if staying with my son is sacrificing Ollie's wellbeing for your own happiness?"

"That's not fair."

"Life isn't fair. It's simply life." Margaret paused as their food arrived, waited for the waiter to leave. "I'm offering you a way out. Five hundred thousand dollars. More than enough to cover your brother's treatment for years, with plenty left over for you to restart your education, build a life."

"In exchange for leaving Alex."

"In exchange for accepting reality. This relationship has an expiration date whether you acknowledge it or not. Alexander will eventually realize that duty matters more than infatuation. The question is how much damage you both suffer before that realization comes."

Elena was quiet for a long moment, staring at her untouched food.

"What if I say no?" she asked finally.

"Then you condemn yourself and your brother to years of media harassment, financial uncertainty, and eventual heartbreak when Alexander chooses his family over you. Because he will, Elena. I raised him. I know exactly how much guilt and obligation drive his decisions."

"You don't know him as well as you think."

"Don't I? He agreed to marry Victoria six years ago without protest. He spent five years building exactly the life I planned for him. And yes, he rebelled when you appeared, but rebellion doesn't last. Duty always wins in the end."

Elena stood abruptly, her chair scraping against the floor. "Thank you for lunch, Mrs. Hartley. But I'm not interested in your money."

"Then you're a fool."

"Maybe. But I'd rather be a fool in love than someone who's forgotten what love feels like." Elena grabbed her purse. "Alex is a good man despite your best efforts to turn him into a dynasty instead of a person. And I'm not giving up on him just because you think I should."

She walked out with her head high, leaving Margaret alone at the table with two untouched meals and the unfamiliar feeling of having lost a negotiation.

Margaret's phone buzzed. A text from her assistant: *The Ashford article is ready to publish. Awaiting your approval.*

Margaret stared at the message for a long moment, then typed back: *Hold it. Indefinitely.*

If Elena Morrison wanted to fight for her son, then Margaret would let her try. And when the girl inevitably failed, when the reality of their different worlds became too much to bear, Alexander would learn a valuable lesson about choosing wisely.

Margaret always played the long game. And she always won.