Contract Wife's Hidden Identity Revealed

Elena POV:

While I mourned, Killian showered Dallas with gifts—a new penthouse overlooking the city, a cherry-red sports car, the life I was supposed to have.

I saw the pictures online, a gallery of my stolen future that served as a stark, painful contrast to my reality.

I charged Leo’s simple casket to my credit card. I took his ashes out on a small boat and scattered them into the gray, choppy sea.

Alone.

Killian didn’t come to the funeral. He didn’t even call.

He sent an absurdly large arrangement of white lilies, a flower I’ve always despised. I threw them in the trash without a glance at the card.

He finally called three days later.

His voice was impossibly casual, as if he were asking about the weather.

"Hey. Sorry to hear about your brother."

A cold, hard knot tightened in my stomach.

"You chose a cat sanctuary over his life," I said, my voice flat.

He sighed, a sound of pure exasperation. "Elena, it was a good PR win. You have to think about the big picture."

I heard Dallas laugh in the background, a high, tinkling sound that made my skin crawl.

"Are we going ring shopping later, baby?" she cooed.

The last flickering ember of love I had for Killian died in that moment.

It just… went out.

The next day, I had my lawyer draw up the divorce papers. Killian had made me sign a prenup years ago, one that left me with next to nothing.

With a hand that didn’t shake, I signed my maiden name, Elena Ramos, and sent a picture of the document to the legal contact Josiah’s people had provided.

I just wanted to be done.

There were a few of Leo’s things left at the first, tiny apartment Killian and I had shared, back before the money and the power. I had to get them before they were lost forever.

As I approached the old building, my breath hitched in my throat. Killian’s black Maybach was parked right below our old window, a sleek predator in a forgotten part of the city.

My own feet carried me up the rickety stairs, my hand trembling as I fitted the old key I still kept on my ring into the lock.

The door creaked open, and I saw them.

Killian had Dallas pressed against the wall—the very wall where our first photo together used to hang. He was kissing her, his hands tangled in her blonde hair, with a passion I hadn't seen from him in years.

I froze, a statue carved from shadow in the hallway, unable to breathe.

"I bought the whole block," Killian murmured against her lips, his voice thick with possession. "I'm tearing it all down to build a new tower. The penthouse is yours."

He was erasing me. Erasing *us*.

He was literally tearing down our past to build a future for her.