Shattered Love: Claimed By The Rival Boss

The tenth call went to voicemail.

Julian, Elara Vance's love. His recordings, once warm whispers in her ear, now grated on her fragile nerves like sandpaper. "You've reached Julian. Leave a message."

Elara Vance lowered her phone, the cold plastic slick against her palm. A sharp, throbbing pain shot up from her left ankle. The emergency room of NewYork-Presbyterian buzzed with a low hum of quiet misery.

Her gaze drifted to the swollen, discolored flesh above her foot. She'd tried to tough it out, limping the few blocks back to her small studio, but the pain had quickly become a white-hot agony.

She squeezed her eyes shut, trying to breathe through the sharp pulse of it.

She'd sent him a text an hour ago.

"Julian, I'm hurt. At the hospital. Please call back."

The screen showed the single word: Delivered. Nothing else.

A nurse with tired eyes and a kind face, her name tag reading Laura Miller, approached with a small paper cup. "Here are some painkillers. The doctor said it's a bad sprain, but no fracture. You're lucky."

Elara swallowed the pills with a sip of lukewarm water. The word 'lucky' felt like a joke.

"Do you need me to call anyone for you? A family member?" Laura asked, her voice gentle.

Elara's thumb hovered over her mother's name in her contacts. Sharon. A cold knot formed in her stomach, tighter than the one in her ankle. She knew exactly what her mother would say. Don't bother the Carlisles with this, Elara. You know how important Julian's work is.

"No, thank you," Elara said, forcing a small smile. "My friend is on her way."

The nurse nodded, gave her a sympathetic look, and moved on to the next curtained-off bay of suffering.

To distract herself from the throbbing in her foot and the growing dread in her chest, Elara looked up at the large television mounted on the wall. It was tuned to a midday financial news program, the ticker at the bottom of the screen a constant stream of green and red arrows.

The host's voice was bright and booming, an unwelcome intrusion into the ER's somber atmosphere.

"In a move that's set to reshape the luxury market, two of New York's most powerful dynasties are joining forces..."

The Carlisle Industries logo flashed on the screen. A stylized 'C' that had been the backdrop of her life for the last three years.

Elara's heart gave a sudden, hard thump against her ribs. She sat up straighter, ignoring the protest from her ankle.

Then, Julian's face filled the screen.

He was perfect. His dark hair was impeccably styled, his blue eyes sharp and intelligent behind his signature gold-rimmed glasses. He wore a custom-tailored suit . A confident, charming smile played on his lips.

A genuine smile touched Elara's own lips. They were doing a feature on him. On his latest success. A surge of pride, warm and familiar, washed over her. This was the man she loved.

The camera pulled back.

A woman was standing next to him, her hand tucked possessively in the crook of his arm. She was blonde and beautiful, dressed in a Chanel suit the color of champagne. Her smile was dazzling.

Elara recognized her instantly. Juliana Kensington. The darling of the New York social scene, heiress to the Kensington Corporation fortune.

Then the headline appeared, emblazoned across the bottom of the screen in bold, white letters.

"A Match Made in Manhattan: Carlisle Heir Julian Carlisle Announces Engagement to Kensington Heiress."

The air rushed out of Elara's lungs.

The host's voice seemed to come from a great distance. "...this union will not only solidify a powerful business alliance but also marks the social event of the decade..."

Her blood turned to ice. A roaring sound filled her ears, drowning out the beeping of machines and the quiet groans of other patients.

Her hand went slack.

The phone slipped from her grasp, hitting the polished linoleum floor with a sickening crack. The screen, which a moment ago held Julian's name, was now a spiderweb of fractured glass.

Just like her heart.

She stared, unseeing, at the screen. At the way Julian looked at Juliana. He was smiling at her with a tenderness, a public display of affection that she had craved, begged for, and been denied for three years. "Just a little more time, Ellie," he'd always said. "We have to be careful."

Whispers erupted around her. A woman in the next chair muttered to her husband, "They look so good together！"

Their words send a thousand tiny stabs through my heart.

She had to get out. She tried to stand, to push herself up from the cold plastic chair, but a blinding bolt of pain shot up her leg. Her ankle gave way completely. She cried out, a small, choked sound, as she collapsed back into the seat, clumsy and weak.

The world spun. The bright lights of the ER blurred into streaks.

Just as she felt the darkness closing in, a pair of warm, strong hands gripped her shoulders, steadying her.

Zoe Hayes, her best friend, who had appeared at the most crucial moment.

" Oh my god, what's wrong?"

She looked up into the furious, worried face of her best friend, Zoe Hayes. Zoe's gaze flickered from Elara's ashen face to the television screen, then down to the shattered phone on the floor.

Understanding dawned in her eyes, quickly followed by a blaze of pure rage.

Zoe didn't say another word. She snatched the remote control from a nearby table and aimed it at the screen. The image of Julian and Juliana smiling vanished, plunging the small waiting area into a sudden, blessed silence.

"That bastard," Zoe hissed, her voice trembling with fury.

She knelt, her movements sharp and angry, and picked up the pieces of Elara's broken phone.

Elara's lips parted, but no sound came out.

Zoe took off her own cashmere coat and wrapped it tightly around Elara's trembling shoulders.

"Come on," Zoe said, her voice low and determined. She helped Elara to her feet, taking most of her weight. "We're leaving."

Elara moved like a puppet, numb and disconnected from her own body. Each step was a fresh wave of pain, both in her ankle and in her chest.

Out in the cold, damp air of the parking garage, Zoe's voice echoed off the concrete walls, sharp as a shard of glass.

"I'm taking you to the Carlisle Estate right now," she said, her eyes like chips of flint. "He is going to give you an explanation."