Elara didn't react immediately when the civil registrar explained the process.
"Once filed," the officer said, "there is a thirty-day cooling-off period. During this time, either party may withdraw the request. With a plausible reason, of course."
Thirty days. The words settled slowly.
She nodded, thanked him politely, and stepped outside as if nothing had changed. Only when the glass doors slid shut behind her did the smile vanish from her lips.
Thirty days meant the door wasn't fully closed yet. Andrew could still interfere. This wasn't over, and she needed to keep her identity hidden till then.
Elara walked outside one of the city's most well-known restaurants, sunlight glinting off the polished glass and marble entrance.
Today, she wore an elegant beige dress that hugged her figure just enough to turn heads. Blue sunglasses shielded her eyes, and her red lipstick was bold and unapologetic.
People glanced at her as they passed, curiosity flickering in their eyes, as if trying to place her face. She noticed it at a distance, almost absent.
There had been a time when she went out of her way not to be noticed.
When she dressed plainly, spoke softly, and stayed small, just for his sake.
Andrew had never announced their marriage to the public. She had told herself it was to avoid gossip, to protect his reputation. So she had learned to fade into the background beside him, to exist quietly, invisibly.
Only now did she see the truth.
She hadn't been protecting him. She had been erasing herself.
He wasn't protecting her; he just didn't consider her worthy enough to stand by his side in public.
A humorless scoff left her lips as she reached for her phone to check the time. Xylon should have arrived by now.
Before she could dial, a small figure rushed toward her, almost hugging her legs.
"Miss! Miss, can I have your autograph?"
Elara blinked, surprised.
She looked down to find a little boy gazing up at her, eyes wide and hopeful. Behind him, his mother hurried forward, panic written across her face.
"I'm so sorry, ma'am," the woman said quickly, pulling her son back. "He thought you were someone famous. He didn't mean to—"
"It's alright," Elara said softly.
She crouched slightly, meeting the child's eyes.
"I am not a celebrity, not yet, sweety," she said softly before she reached into her purse and pulled out a piece of candy—something she always carried with her.
Andrew used to tease her about it, assuming it was a habit born of indulgence. He never knew it was because of her low blood pressure.
The boy's face lit up as she placed the candy in his hand.
"Thank you!" he exclaimed before running back to his mother.
The woman bowed her head gratefully before following her son. Elara straightened slowly, watching them leave.
Something in her chest tightened.
The woman's posture, her cautious humility—was familiar.
Elara recognized it immediately. She had carried herself the same way for years. Careful not to offend. Careful not to take up too much space.
Her expression cooled as she turned back toward the street.
Engines purred nearby.
A sleek black Maybach pulled up to the entrance, followed by two SUVs.
Elara's breath hitched.
This wasn't Xylon's car.
Her heart dropped as the door opened and a tall man stepped out, dressed in black, his presence commanding without effort.
Her instincts screamed at her to leave. She turned sharply and began to walk away.
She barely made it three steps.
Two bodyguards stepped into her path, blocking her without a word.
"Move," Elara said, her voice sharp.
They didn't respond.
Her gaze darkened as she reached out, placing her hands against one of their arms, trying to push past them. Before she could apply any pressure, a cold hand wrapped around her wrist and yanked her backward.
"Let me go," she hissed, struggling. "Or I'll scream."
The man behind her leaned down.
"Scream then."
The indifference in his voice sent a chill through her.
She spun around, fury blazing as she faced him. His eyes were hidden behind dark sunglasses. The expression on his face was unreadable.
Her gaze shifted past him—to Xylon, who stood a short distance away, looking thoroughly uncomfortable.
"Do you serve him," Elara demanded, "or me?"
Xylon opened his mouth, hesitated, then quickly shook his head. "I serve you," he said firmly.
The man holding her hand was none other than her own brother, George Frost, someone she couldn't find against.
"That's my friend," George beside her said calmly. "He doesn't serve anyone."
Before Elara could retort, George bent down and lifted her effortlessly, like lifting a naughty kid who was about to get scolded.
"What are you—!"
"Put me down!" she snapped, pounding against his back.
"Bro," Xylon muttered, rubbing his neck, embarrassed, "you might be going a bit too far."
"Overboard?" George replied coolly. "She vanished for three years. No contact, nothing!"
Elara froze.
Her sunglasses slipped off, falling to the ground. Xylon caught them quickly, his expression darkening when he saw her face.
At the same moment, a man exiting the restaurant slowed to a stop.
Trevor Gain frowned, staring at the scene unfolding before him. Something about the woman felt disturbingly familiar.
He stepped closer.
Recognition hit him like a blow.
"That's… Andrew's wife," he muttered under his breath.
Without hesitation, he pulled out his phone and snapped a photo, sending it to Andrew with a single line of text.
[Isn't this Elara?]
Andrew was driving to the company, irritation simmering beneath the surface, the registrar's words from earlier repeating in his head.
He dismissed it as another attempt to get his attention. He always did.
His phone buzzed at a red light.
He glanced at the photo and stiffened.
For a moment, he didn't recognize her.
Elara hated bright colors. She dressed plainly. She never wore lipstick like that.
And yet there she was, looking bold and radiant, most importantly, being carried by another man while bodyguards surrounded them.
His jaw tightened.
Disgust flickered through him.
What is she trying to pull now? He typed a quick reply.
[That's not my wife.]
Then he called his assistant.
"Have a few men look into something," he said briskly. "If she's in trouble, handle it."
With that, he stepped into the building, already pushing the matter aside.
Back in the car, Elara glared at the man seated beside her.
"I'm telling Mom and Dad how you treated me," she snapped.
"So you finally remember you have parents," George replied flatly. "And a family."
The words hit harder than she expected.
Her anger faltered.
She swallowed, then reached out, gripping his sleeve lightly.
"Are you angry with me… brother?"
George Frost didn't answer immediately. His jaw tightened as he looked away.
"You vanished," he said finally. "You cut us off. Do you know what that did to them?"
Tears burned Elara's eyes.
"I was wrong," she whispered.
That was all it took.
George turned to her, the anger in his eyes cracking into something raw and aching. He placed a hand on her head, pulling her closer.
"You're back now," he said quietly. "That's all that matters."
Elara leaned into him, exhaustion finally crashing down.
"Can I sleep?" she murmured. "I feel like I haven't rested in years."
"Sleep," George said, his voice gentler now. "You're home."
As the car moved forward, Elara closed her eyes.
But this time, the rest didn't mean escape.
Behind the exhaustion, something else stirred.
Thirty days.
She would use every one of them.
This time, she wouldn't disappear.
This time, she would make sure the world—and Andrew Lloyd—remembered exactly who Elara Frost was.
And what it meant to break her.