Chapter 3 Four

"Who is she?"

The voice cut through like a blade.

I spin around. She's standing there in a red dress, tight enough to leave nothing. The sun catches in her hair, turning it to look almost golden. She walks slowly, her heels tickling against the floor. Her gaze locked on mine. She doesn't need to ask. She already knows but wants to hear me say it.

I recognized her instantly.

Arielle Ward.

Alexander's former fiancée.

Socialite. Business heiress. Trained viper.

Her presence is a declaration of war.

"Wow," she says, stopping a few feet away. "It is you. I thought Caroline was joking."

She gives me a long look, cool and unreadable.

"So you finally show your face," she says. "Showing up here after all these years."

"I didn't know you'd be here," I say, keeping my voice calm.

She lets out a short laugh, Of course you didn't. Sweetheart "this place? It's mine now. You're the stranger."

I didn't respond. She moves around me, unhurried and smooth, her red dress brushing the floor around her like a fire..

"I thought you were dead," she says quietly with no warmth in it. "Or in hiding. But here you are. Wearing his ring again."

"I'm just working," I say carefully. "I'm the private chef."

She lets out a laugh so sharp I flinch. "Private chef? Darling, no one wears that ring for a cooking job."

I fold my arms. "Then ask him why he put it back on my finger."

"Oh, I will." Her voice softens, all sugar-coated and fake sweet. "But really, tell me-you think you can just show up and act like nothing ever happened?

I look her straight in the eyes. "I'm not pretending?"

Her expression flickers.

"You always had that bite," she says softly. "It's why he liked you, I suppose. You were the wild card. The orphan girl who got too close to the king."

"I'm not here for him," I lie.

"No?" She tilts her head. "Then why are you trembling?"

I hate that she notices. I hate how exposed I feel, like she sees right through all the parts I've tried to patch up.

She leans in close, that sweet and thick perfume hitting me hard. "I waited years for him to erase you. To stop checking the damn news for your name. You think your little disappearance meant he moved on? No, darling. He just got colder. More ruthless."

She straightens, eyes glittering. "And now you're back. Which means he's dangerous again."

Before I can say a word, she turns and walks away-every step feels final, like a decision has already been made.

That evening, I found the contract back on my bed.

Open. Reprinted. Highlighted.

There's a sticky note on the final page.

"Come to my study. Now. – A"

Alex is seated behind his desk when I arrive.

Dark slacks. White shirt. Sleeves rolled to his elbows. A whiskey glass was untouched on the edge of the table.

He doesn't look up when I enter.

"I assume Arielle paid you a visit."

"She did."

He nods once. "She always did have a flair for intrusion."

"I didn't invite her in."

He finally lifts his gaze. "Did you tell her why you're here?"

My mouth goes dry. "No. Because I don't even know why I am."

He stands slowly, every move looks controlled, like he's used to keeping things in check.

"You came back because you needed money. That's what you said."

I nod.

"But I don't believe that's the whole truth," he adds.

"I never claimed it was."

"No," he says, stepping around the desk, "but you let me believe it. You signed the contract without hesitation. You moved into the house without a fight. You slipped that ring back on like it never left your finger."

I stand my ground. "Isn't that what you wanted?"

He's inches from me now.

"What I wanted," he says quietly, "was closure. Not a ghost from my past moving through my home like nothing happened."

"Then fire me," I whisper.

He smiles-sharp, humorless. "Oh, no. You don't get to leave this time."

His hand lifts. Not to touch-but to point at the photo on the desk.

The one Caroline delivered.

The one from the clinic.

"Where was this taken?" he asks.

"I don't remember."

"Liar."

I close my eyes. "Why does it matter?"

"Because I pay attention," he growls. "Because I know the look in your eyes. And because I know that was taken after our marriage and before your disappearance."

I turn away.

He grips my wrist-not harsh, but firm. "Who were you seeing at that clinic?"

"No one."

"Elena."

My voice is shaking. "It's none of your business."

His tone darkens. "It was my business when you were still my wife. And it sure as hell is my business now that you're wearing my ring again."

My eyes sting. I pull my hand away and take a step back.

"Don't talk to me like that," I say, quietly but firmly

"I don't?" he snaps. "Because that's exactly how you disappeared-like someone running from guilt."

I shake my head. "You have no idea."

"Then tell me!" he says, louder now. "Tell me why you leave?. What did I do?"

I look at him, and my chest hurts. My hands won't stay still.

"You didn't do anything," I say, and my voice cracks. "It was me."

He didn't say a word. Just look at me.

And right then, I know that if I say it, nothing will be the same. There's no going back.

But I also know I can't keep carrying on like it didn't happen.

So I took a deep breath slowly and let it go.

Open my mouth.

And then the study door opens.

It's Caroline.

"There's an urgent call for Mr. Grey," she says quietly. "From New York."

He looks at me for a second, then steps back.

"This isn't done," he says.

And when the door closes behind him, I let myself cry.