Rain was falling when Cassandra Lim returned to Singapore, the kind of fine, silvery rain that blurred the skyline into something cruelly beautiful. The tabloids called it "the reunion that shook the city's elite". Elena called it something else entirely: a test she wasn't sure she wanted to pass.
She first saw Cassandra's name while waiting for Adrian in his office. The glossy magazine lay open on the glass table, Cass Lim: From Fashion Muse to Empire Builder. A photo of her in a champagne suit, poised and lethal, filled the page. The caption underneath glinted like a warning: Rumors swirl that she and billionaire Adrian Vega may cross paths again, professionally, or otherwise.
Elena closed the magazine quietly, as if it might burn her fingers.
By the time Adrian entered, his phone was pressed to his ear, tone clipped. "Yes, schedule the dinner. No, make sure the press isn't tipped off. I want this quiet."
She looked up, heartbeat betraying her calm. "Dinner?"
He ended the call, sliding his phone into his pocket. "A business associate is back in town."
"Cassandra Lim," she said before she could stop herself.
He paused, barely, but enough for the silence to bruise. "So you've read the gossip columns."
"They're hard to avoid when your face is in them every day."
A muscle ticked in his jaw. "It's a business dinner. Nothing more."
"Right," she murmured. "Like Bali was just a business trip."
His eyes flicked to her, a fleeting, warning glance, but she didn't flinch. The air between them thickened, charged with the weight of everything left unsaid since that night. Since waking tangled in his arms, his breath warm against her neck, the sound of the rain blurring the lines between hate and hunger.
He finally spoke, voice low. "Don't make this into something it's not, Elena."
"Then what is it, Adrian?" she whispered. "Us?"
He didn't answer. He just turned away, shoulders taut, and said, "Cancel your schedule tomorrow evening. You're coming with me."
The next night, the ballroom glittered with chandeliers and the quiet hum of money. Elena arrived on Adrian's arm, diamonds at her throat, a gown the color of old wine. To the cameras outside, they were flawless: the city's golden couple, untouchable.
Inside, her hand trembled slightly against his sleeve.
"Relax," Adrian murmured. "We're performing."
"You're very good at that," she replied softly. "Pretending."
His gaze flicked to her, sharp and unreadable, but before he could respond, a voice, smooth as silk, cut through the air.
"Adrian."
Cassandra Lim approached like a memory reborn. She was elegance sculpted in motion, all sleek lines, scarlet lips, and eyes that knew exactly where to land. When she smiled, the room tilted.
"Elena," Adrian said evenly, "this is Cassandra."
Elena offered her hand. "It's a pleasure."
"Oh, I'm sure," Cassandra said with a light laugh. Her perfume, jasmine and steel, curled in the air. "You're even lovelier than the magazines say."
"And you're even more direct than they imply," Elena replied, voice smooth.
Cassandra's smile widened, but her eyes were knives. "I was once in your position, dear. Standing beside him. Thinking I understood the man I was with."
Elena's breath caught, but she didn't look away. "And did you?"
Cassandra's gaze flicked to Adrian, then back. "He doesn't love anyone, Elena. He just builds cages and calls them promises."
Adrian's voice sliced through the tension. "That's enough."
"Oh, relax," Cassandra purred, resting a manicured hand on his arm. "It's nostalgia, not malice."
But Elena saw the way Adrian's shoulders stiffened, the faint twitch of his jaw that betrayed the calm exterior. Cassandra noticed too, and her smile turned knowing.
"Do you still play the piano, Adrian?" she asked. "You used to say music was the only thing that made you feel."
Elena felt the pang before she could stop it. She had never heard him play. Never seen him soften that way, not for her.
"I stopped," Adrian said curtly. "Some things aren't worth revisiting."
"How sad," Cassandra murmured, sipping her wine. "You used to be capable of passion."
Dinner stretched on, four courses of tension disguised as civility. Cassandra asked questions designed to wound; Adrian answered with the kind of restraint that made every syllable feel like a weapon. Elena sat still, smiling, her nails digging crescent moons into her palm under the table.
But when the waiter poured champagne, Cassandra leaned forward, her tone feather-light. "So tell me, Elena, do you ever wonder why he married you?"
Elena's fingers froze around her glass. "No," she said. "Because whatever his reason was, I'm sure it wasn't for you."
A hush rippled down the table. Adrian's hand moved beneath the linen, resting lightly on hers. His thumb brushed against her knuckles, once, a silent warning or reassurance. She couldn't tell which.
Cassandra's laughter was soft. "You have spirit. That will make it worse."
"Worse?" Elena asked.
"When he breaks you," Cassandra said, "you'll still love him."
Adrian stood abruptly. "Dinner's over."
They didn't speak on the drive home. The city lights-streaked past, reflected in the tinted glass, gold and cold and unreal. Elena stared out the window, her pulse a thunder she couldn't quiet.
Finally, she said, "Why did you let her say those things?"
Adrian's grip tightened on the steering wheel. "Because arguing would've made it true."
"She still matters to you."
He glanced at her, brief, electric. "If she did, I wouldn't have married you."
"That's not comfort, Adrian. That's cruelty dressed as honesty."
He exhaled slowly. "You think you understand what this is?"
"I think I'm starting to," she said softly. "You build walls, and then punish anyone who tries to climb them."
He pulled into the private drive, braking too sharply. "Be careful, Elena."
"Why? Because I'm getting close?" she challenged.
"No," he said, voice low, dangerous. "Because I'm starting to let you."
Later that night, she found him on the balcony, sleeves rolled, tie undone, a glass of scotch in hand. The city burned below, silent witness to their unraveling.
"Cassandra's wrong about one thing," Elena said quietly from the doorway. "You do feel."
He didn't turn, but his voice was rougher when he spoke. "And that's the problem."
She stepped closer, the rain beginning again, soft, persistent. "You invited her to dinner on purpose, didn't you? To prove something."
Adrian looked at her then, eyes storm-dark. "To remind myself of what I walked away from."
"And me?" she asked, heart thudding. "What am I?"
He was silent for a long time. Then… "The one mistake I can't seem to undo."
The words landed like glass shattering between them. But beneath the bitterness, there was something else — a tremor, a truth neither could bury anymore.
Before she could reply, his phone buzzed on the table. A message blinked on the screen. From: Cassandra.
"Dinner was delightful. Just like old times."
Elena turned and walked away before he could see the look on her face.
The next morning, the tabloids blared the headline:
"VEGA REUNITES WITH FORMER FIANCÉE: WIFE PRESENT AT DINNER"
Beneath the photo, Adrian and Cassandra in mid-laugh, Elena blurred in the background like an afterthought.
But what the cameras didn't catch was the storm behind his eyes.
And the truth that he had asked Cassandra to dinner not for nostalgia,
but because someone had to be the bait.
Someone was threatening Elena Vega.
And Cassandra Lim had just walked straight into the trap.