Chapter 3
Elena
William Harrington closed the file in front of him with a sharp, terrifyingly corporate snap.
He adjusted the heavy gold cuff of his suit with the kind of slow-motion precision that made the entire boardroom instantly shut up.
With his sharp tailored suit and striking blonde hair, William looked entirely too relaxed for a room that was technically on fire, exuding the kind of casual confidence that only comes with a flawless track record.
Elena sat back slightly in her chair, a massive wave of exhaustion pressing behind her eyes.
Outside the floor-to-ceiling glass walls of the Waldorf Fashion headquarters, Manhattan glittered in the distance—cold, busy, and entirely indifferent.
Inside, the atmosphere felt less like a glamorous fashion house and more like a luxury cruise liner where the passengers had slowly realized the lower decks had been on fire for quite some time.
William, however, was completely unbothered by the smoke.
“After reviewing the financial position of Waldorf Fashion Designs,” he said, his voice dropping into that smooth, lazy confidence that always made people lean in, “my client has agreed to invest fifty million dollars into the company.”
Elena almost heard the collective inhale around the table. Fifty million. It wasn't enough to make them completely untouchable, but it stopped the bleeding. It bought them time.
Before anyone could mistake his client for a charity organization, William turned a page with a brutal, crisp sound. “The investment will be structured as a secured loan with a twenty percent annual return.”
Elena’s brows pulled together. The rate was aggressive—practically highway robbery in a bespoke suit—but considering they were practically on bankruptcy's doorstep, it was the only life raft in sight.
William folded his hands over the file, leaning forward. “However, my client has absolutely no interest in funding mismanagement. Frankly speaking, the current operational structure of this company is completely unstable.”
It was a beautiful, elegant legal translation for: This place is a circus wearing designer heels.
Across the table, Aunt Julie stiffened so fast she looked like she’d been struck by lightning. William didn’t even blink. He had never been fond of Aunt Julie.
“My client’s conditions are non-negotiable,” he continued, his tone perfectly level. “Full veto authority on all major financial and executive decisions. Our management team will work directly alongside yours, effective immediately.”
Translation- Stay the hell out of my way.
Elena glanced at her aunt. Julie’s entire face had tightened into a mask of offended disbelief, her blood-red fingernails digging into the mahogany table like she was physically restraining herself from hurling her crystal water glass at William’s flawless blonde head.
Elena had seen that exact expression ten minutes ago in Julie's office when Elena had dared to question her leadership.
But now, an entire boardroom was watching Julie's absolute authority get professionally dismantled by a lawyer who hadn’t even raised his voice.
William opened a final document.
“Additionally, should the company fail to repay the agreed amount within the contractual timeline, full ownership of Waldorf Fashion Designs will legally transfer to my client.”
Well. There it was. The guillotine clause.
The board members exchanged uneasy looks, but nobody objected. If anything, a few looked disturbingly relieved.
It told Elena everything she needed to know about how little faith remained in her aunt's regime.
One older board member finally cleared his throat, adjusting his tie. “Given the circumstances,” he said carefully, tracking William’s unblinking gaze, “I believe these terms are entirely reasonable.”
Julia looked genuinely stunned for half a second. Not at the savagery of the conditions—but at the fact that absolutely no one was standing up to defend her.
Finally Julia straightened in her chair with a sharp, forced elegance. “Fine,” she said tightly, her voice practically vibrating with venom. “If that is what is necessary.” She turned a sharp, glaring look toward Elena. “Send the finalized paperwork to my office. I have a flight to catch.”
Elena watched her aunt sweep out of the boardroom in a heavy cloud of Chanel perfume and wounded pride, before she finally let out a long, slow exhale.
It was a brutal corporate coup, but Waldorf Fashion desperately needed someone to come in and rip the rotting parts out by force. Even if that someone was a mysterious billionaire shadow-investor.
****
By the time Elena stepped into her quiet penthouse, the city had dissolved into a deep evening. She kicked off her painful heels near the doorway with a relieved sigh. What a day.
Between Maya reappearing out of nowhere, the nightmare board meeting, and a mysterious investor basically buying her family's legacy, her brain felt like an overheated engine throwing off sparks.
Still, she was oddly curious about the mystery client. Soon enough, they would be working very closely together.
“Marta?” she called absently.
Her housekeeper appeared from the kitchen.
“Good evening, ma’am. Mr. Montgomery left for his flight to Singapore about an hour ago.”
Elena nodded, a little, unintentional smile tugging at her lips. The house was empty. Kyle was gone for the month.
She practically sprinted toward her bedroom, eager to escape the suffocating prison of her corporate blazer and her painfully tight high bun.
Pulling the pins from her hair one by one, thick golden waves spilled heavily over her shoulders.
God, that felt amazing. She removed her classic pearl earrings—the sensible, subdued ones Kyle always preferred—and placed them on the silver tray beside the mirror.
That was when she noticed the heavy, cream-colored envelope from this morning.
Written across the front in a sharp, unfamiliar elegant script was her name:
Elena Waldorf.
Waldorf. Nobody called her that anymore.
Not since she became Mrs. Kyle Montgomery.
Curious, she tore the wax seal open. A small stack of glossy photographs slid out into her lap.
Elena froze.
It was Kyle.
And his mouth was pinned against the neck of a woman who was definitely not his wife.
****
Elena stared at the photographs over and over again, her brain short-circuiting. The camera quality was painfully, brutally high-definition.
It was Kyle.
Her husband.
The man currently on a "crucial business trip" to Singapore.
The pictures showed him at a private afterparty, a crystal glass of scotch in hand while nearly naked women draped themselves across his shoulders like cheap accessories.
In one, a striking blonde sat directly on his lap.
In another, he was laughing into the collarbone of a different girl.
Five photographs. Five entirely different women.
“What the fuck…” the words left her lips in a hollow whisper.
Strangely, the very first thing that hit her wasn't a broken heart. It was a wave of scorching, suffocating humiliation. Because she knew this exact flavor of sickness too well.
The toxic disbelief crawling up her throat, the pathetic instinct to search for an excuse. Maybe there’s context, her brain tried to whisper. Maybe it isn’t what it looks like.
Her hand began to tremble against the edge of the counter.
Four years ago, she had promised herself she would never, ever let another man reduce her into a frantic, insecure girl desperate to be chosen.
Then Kyle had walked into her life when she was barely surviving the fallout of her past. He had been safe.
Predictable. Solid. And piece by piece, she had forced herself to believe that safety was enough.
Three fucking years.
A bitter, sharp laugh escaped her throat. Different man. Different lies. Same absolute humiliation.
Suddenly, every single piece of the puzzle clicked into place. All those times Kyle had started spending an awful lot of time on his business trips abroad. The way he would stroll through the front door at two in the morning, smelling vaguely of unfamiliar soap.
“It was a business dinner, Elena. You wouldn’t understand the pressure.”
How did she not see it before? Or worse—maybe she did see it, but she had been too terrified to believe it.
Her gaze dropped to the massive diamond ring weighing down her left hand.
For three years, she had been the absolute perfect society wife.
She had attended the endless, soul-crushing charity dinners.
She had smiled through his mind-numbing corporate parties.
She had completely restructured her life, her schedule, and her moods around his comfort.
God, she had even forced herself to learn how to play golf for this man.
And meanwhile, he was out there doing this?
“This is the thank you I get?” Elena yelled at the empty, silent room.
The sadness didn't come. Instead, a wave of pure, volatile fury took its place. Elena snapped her eyes toward the large, silver-framed wedding photograph sitting beside the mirror. Kyle was smiling down at her, and she was smiling back like a naive idiot.
Elena grabbed the frame and hurled it across the bedroom with every ounce of strength she had. It slammed against the far wall with a violent, satisfying crack before shattering into a hundred glittering shards across the hardwood floor.
Elena stood over the vanity, breathing hard. She stared at the wreckage. And somehow… she felt a tiny bit better.
Small pieces of her identity had disappeared over the years, chipped away so quietly that she hadn't noticed until she woke up one day and realized she had turned into a total stranger.
Mrs. Montgomery.
Prim. Proper. Perfect. A beautiful, quiet accessory for Kyle Montgomery to wear on his arm to look respectable. And she had smiled through every single minute of it like she was just grateful to be invited.
She stared at her own reflection in the mirror.
She missed Elena Waldorf. That girl had been alive. She had been fun, a little bit reckless, and entirely too loud when she laughed.
“This time,” she whispered softly to the mirror, a dangerous little spark returning to her eyes, “I choose me.”
The thought alone made her feel instantly lighter. Without another second of hesitation, Elena grabbed her phone, scrolled past her husband's name without a single shred of regret, and dialed William Harrington's private line. It was time to get her divorce papers ready.
****
Elena refused to be the tragic wife sobbing into a pillow while her soon-to-be-ex-husband ran around town. She had a business to save, a successful deal to celebrate, and her own freedom to toast.
An hour later, after turning her bedroom vanity into a complete disaster area of cosmetics, Elena shook her hair completely free, letting the golden waves fall down her back.
She reached into the very back of her jewelry drawer—ignoring every piece of sensible jewelry Kyle had bought her—and pulled out a pair of dramatic, sparkling diamond hanging earrings that caught the light like strobe matches.
She did her makeup exactly the way she liked it—sharp, dramatic, and capped off with an extra layer of high-shine pink lipgloss that made her mouth look impossibly plush.
Then came the dress.
She pulled a scandalous, silk red gown from her closet—the exact one Kyle had once sneered at and called "attention-seeking" before forcing her to wear an oversized black sheath dress instead. Well, she was done shrinking herself for his comfort, or for anybody’s comfort, for that matter.
Tonight wasn't just a party.
The highly exclusive Noir Gala was happening downtown, and she had a front-row seat. She desperately wanted to be out of her husband’s house—her soon-to-be-ex-husband’s house—even if it meant stepping directly into a lions' den of high society gossip.
Tonight, she was going to celebrate her brand’s survival, her triumphant business deal, and most importantly, her upcoming divorce.
Elena clipped the diamond earrings into place, took one last look at the stunning, dangerous woman in the mirror, and smiled. Tonight, the world was going to find out that Mrs. Montgomery was dead.
She grabbed her clutch, stepped right over the shattered glass of her wedding portrait, and walked out the door.
Elena Waldorf was officially back, and she was playing by her own rules.