Chapter 2

Elinor Flowers POV

The next morning, I went to work as usual. The studio, "Evolve Designs," was my dream. Kimberly and I founded it three years ago. We poured our hearts into it. Every brick, every blueprint, every client meeting-it was all us. I trusted Kimberly with everything. She was my partner, my confidante. We shared a vision. Or so I thought.

My mind replayed future Jadon's chilling words: "She will steal your architectural firm using my venture capital funds." The words echoed in my head, cold and precise. I walked past Kimberly's empty desk. A cold fear gripped me. I had to check. I had to know.

Future Jadon had said this had been years in the making. If Kimberly had been planning since college, there would be a trail. I needed to find it.

I sat at her computer. My fingers hovered over the keyboard. I knew her password. We shared everything. I logged in. My heart hammered against my ribs. I navigated to our shared network drive. I found a folder marked "Personal Backups." I opened it.

The screen filled with files. All of my design drafts. Every single one. Even the ones I hadn't shared with anyone yet. They were meticulously organized, dated, and copied. My breath caught in my throat. It was all there. My entire life's work.

My hands flew to my phone. "She copied all my designs," I typed to future Jadon, my fingers shaking. "All of them. Why?"

His reply came almost immediately. "She's been planning this for years. She'll use my venture capital to acquire a controlling stake in Evolve Designs. She'll force you out. The designs are her leverage. She wants to be the sole owner, the face of the firm."

My vision blurred. I stared at my screen, at the endless list of files. My designs. My creations. Each one represented countless hours, sleepless nights, boundless passion. Jadon had been my biggest supporter when I started Evolve Designs. He encouraged me. He even helped me with the initial seed money, calling it a "good investment." I had been so proud. So grateful.

Now, I realized the cruel irony. He wasn't just supporting my dream. He was unknowingly financing its theft. He was handing over my life's work to the woman who wanted to destroy me. The realization turned my gratitude into a burning rage. My stomach twisted.

In the late afternoon, Kimberly walked into the studio. She carried two coffees. Her usual bright smile was plastered on her face.

"Hey, Elinor," she said, her voice chirpy. "You look tired. Long night? All that wedding planning, I bet. I brought you coffee."

She placed the cup on my desk. Her eyes, filled with a false concern, met mine. I forced a smile. My face felt stiff. My voice was calm, steady.

"Thanks, Kim," I replied, taking a sip. The coffee was bitter. "Just a lot on my mind. Excited about the engagement, you know."

She nodded, her smile widening. "Of course! I'm so happy for you two. You deserve all the happiness in the world."

She left a few minutes later, humming a cheerful tune. The sound grated on my nerves. I watched her go, my hand clenching around the coffee cup. As soon as the door closed, I messaged future Jadon again.

"Did you regret it?" I asked, my thumb hovering over the send button. "Did you regret letting her do this to me?"

His reply was a long pause. Then: "Every day. But she made a good case. She said you were too trusting. Too naive. That you needed to be protected from your own generosity. She convinced me she was helping you, helping us."

The words were hollow. Empty. They offered no comfort.

That evening, Jadon was in the kitchen, humming a tune as he cooked dinner. The aroma of garlic and herbs filled our apartment. He made my favorite pasta dish. He looked happy. Content. He leaned over and kissed my cheek.

"Rough day, honey?" he asked, his voice full of warmth. "You seem a little distracted."

I shook my head. "Just a lot of work. Deadlines."

"Well, you just relax," he said. "Let's talk about the wedding. Have you thought about colors? A venue?"

I forced a smile. "Whatever you want, Jadon. I trust your taste."

He beamed. He had no idea. The thought was a cold, hard lump in my chest.

Later, after Jadon had fallen asleep, I slipped out of bed. The silence of our apartment felt heavy. I went into the bathroom and turned on the shower. The hot water cascaded over me. I traced the faint scar on my right shoulder. It was an old scar. A memory.

I was thirteen. Kimberly and I were playing near the old abandoned construction site. She had dared me to climb a rickety scaffolding. She lost her footing. I grabbed her. The metal beam gave way. I pulled her to safety, but a jagged piece of rebar sliced my shoulder. She cried, saying she was so sorry. I told her it was okay. We were best friends. Sisters. We would always protect each other.

The memory brought a fresh wave of grief. The hot water couldn't wash away the bitterness. I picked up my phone. I needed more answers. All of them.

"Tell me everything," I typed to future Jadon. "No more half-truths. Everything."

His reply came in a series of fragmented messages. He started with my father. My heart seized.

"Your father... his heart condition... it wasn't supposed to be that bad. Not then," he wrote. "He could have been saved. The day he died... you were away, on a business trip. I had already arranged for the best team. Specialists."

Then, the messages stopped. The screen went blank. My heart pounded. My father. My sweet, kind father. He was my rock. My world. I couldn't breathe.

"What happened?!" I messaged, my hands shaking. "Jadon! What happened to my father?!"

No reply. I waited. The minutes stretched into hours. My phone remained silent. The fear was a living thing, clawing at my throat.