Contract Wife's Hidden Identity Revealed

Killian POV:

For a split second, seeing Elena on the floor, her face a pale mask of pain, a protective instinct flared deep in my chest.

But Dallas’s theatrical sobs shattered the impulse, dragging my focus back to her. I wrapped an arm around her, glaring down at Elena.

"Can you stop causing trouble for one goddamn day?" I snapped, my voice made raw by the exhaustion of the past week. "I've barely slept. I've been dealing with the fallout from the hit, with the police, with *you*."

Elena looked up at me, her eyes empty.

"You've been sleeping just fine. In her bed."

Silence. The truth of her words landed, a punch to the gut. I had no defense.

I knelt beside her, my movements stiff. I took a cloth from a nearby tray and roughly dabbed at the blood welling on her hand where Dallas’s heel had dug in. "Be smart, Elena," I whispered, my voice low and urgent, for her ears only. "You know how this works. Pretend you don't know. Let me get bored of her."

I leaned closer, my lips almost touching her ear.

"I'll get rid of her. And when I'm done, I'll ruin her for you, just like I promised. Just be patient."

I tried to kiss her, to seal the deal, to bring her back under my control.

She recoiled as if my touch were poison, her face a mask of pure disgust.

"I wish I'd never met you," she said, her voice a dead, flat thing.

Her words were a blade twisting in my chest. I stood, my face a blank mask to hide the sudden, gaping wound she’d opened inside me. I took Dallas’s arm, pulling the still-sobbing woman from the room.

Elena POV:

The moment they were gone, a strange clarity descended.

The pain, the grief, the love—it all receded, replaced by a cold, sharp purpose.

I made a call. Within the hour, a discreet security expert sent by Josiah was in my room. He retrieved the footage from the camera in the corner, the one that had captured everything Dallas did.

I gathered the screenshots of her DMs, the news clippings of her with Killian, every piece of evidence of their affair.

I sat in the uncomfortable hospital chair and composed an email to Killian's private account. I attached every file, every video, every single, damning piece of his betrayal.

I set it on a 24-hour timer.

Then I walked out of the hospital, leaving the expensive clothes and that empty life behind.

I was no longer Elena Emerson, the Don's wife.

I was Elena Ramos again.

And I was ready for my vendetta.