Chapter 2

Alexander said he never fell for her. For the past three years, Eleanor had been the only fool, pouring her whole heart into a story he had scripted from the start. Eleanor stood frozen, staring at her empty hand. The warmth from his wrist still lingered on her skin, but it burned now, like a brand searing into flesh. In the next instant, she grabbed the bottle of expensive liquor from the coffee table and hurled it to the floor. The shattering sound echoed through the private lounge. Glasses, fruit plates, ornaments—anything within reach became her outlet for pain. Everyone else in the room was too stunned to intervene. No one knew how long it lasted before Eleanor's strength finally gave out. Her eyes were hollow, cheeks streaked with tears, yet a faint, broken laugh slipped past her lips. She didn't even remember how she made it out of the club. A rush of night wind chilled her face. She wiped her tears carelessly and hailed a cab. "Follow that Maybach." She had to see for herself who Alexander's so-called first love was—the woman he had longed for over three years, the one Eleanor could never measure up to. The driver glanced at her through the rearview mirror but kept quiet, stepping on the gas to follow. Alexander, who was usually calm and collected behind the wheel, was driving noticeably faster tonight. Was he really that eager to see his precious first love? The car came to a stop on the floor of the international airport's arrivals hall. Eleanor paid the fare and stumbled out, hiding behind a pillar. She spotted Alexander at the exit, and then a graceful woman in a white dress emerged, pulling a suitcase behind her. The moment Eleanor saw her face, her world seemed to shatter. It wasn't just because Alexander caught her as she ran into his arms, holding her close and pressing a gentle kiss to her hair with disarming tenderness—it was because the woman in his embrace, the one he treated as if she might break at the slightest touch, was Amelia Hayes. Amelia was her half sister—the last person Eleanor ever wanted to see. Years ago, barely six months after her mother, Elizabeth Morgan, died in a car crash, her father, Robert Hayes, brought another woman into their home—Patricia Reed. Patricia had brought along her daughter, Amelia, who was three years older than Eleanor. Robert claimed Patricia was his first love, and Amelia was his biological child. He said that if Elizabeth hadn't forced him into marriage, he would never have broken up with Patricia, who had been pregnant with his child at the time. How absurd. Eleanor knew the truth better than anyone. Back then, Robert had been utterly desperate. His business was collapsing, and he could barely keep himself fed. It was he who had gone to Elizabeth—the woman who had loved him for years—and promised to marry her in exchange for the Morgan family's investment in his company. Elizabeth had given him everything—her wealth, her love, and even her life. She died saving him, pushing him out of the way of that fatal crash. And what did Robert do? Before her body was even cold, he took her fortune and inheritance to marry his so-called first love in grand style. Alexander could have loved anyone. Why did it have to be Amelia? Eleanor bit her lip until it bled, yet she was too numb to notice. By the time she came to her senses, Alexander was already holding Amelia's suitcase, holding her waist as he guided her toward the parking lot. Like someone possessed, Eleanor hailed another cab and followed them. From where she sat, she could see everything through the windshield—the way Alexander turned to speak gently to Amelia, the warmth in his eyes, and the effortless intimacy as he reached over to tuck a loose strand of hair behind her ear. That kind of gentle care, that natural tenderness, was something Eleanor had never experienced in all the years she'd been with him. Her heart felt as if it were being ground beneath a millstone, crushed again and again until she could hardly breathe. Tears blurred her vision just as a sudden commotion erupted ahead. The screech of tires and a deafening crash tore through the night. Eleanor's cab slammed into the Maybach in front of them before it was violently rear-ended by the car behind. The impact was brutal. Eleanor's forehead struck the seat in front of her with a sharp crack. Pain exploded across her skull, and she felt warm liquid trickle down her face, clouding her sight. Amid the chaos—the screams and the sound of shattering glass—she caught a glimpse of the familiar Maybach door swinging open through the fractured window. Alexander was the first to step out. He hurried to the passenger seat, opened the door, and gently lifted Amelia into his arms. He held her in his arms, frowning as he looked over her injuries, his face filled with worry and tenderness. With Amelia still in his arms, he turned to leave the crash site. Then, through the splintered glass, his gaze collided with Eleanor's. Her face was streaked with blood, and her body was trapped beneath the cab's twisted frame. For a fleeting moment, she caught a flash of shock in his normally composed eyes, only for it to disappear almost instantly. Amelia seemed to sense his hesitation. She asked softly, "Alexander, what's wrong? Did you see someone you know? I'm fine, really. It's just a small scratch. If there's someone you recognize, you should go check on them. I heard one of the cabs was hit pretty badly." Alexander stayed silent for a few seconds before finally looking away. "I know none of them," he said quietly. "They're all strangers." With that, he carried Amelia away without a backward glance, leaving the wreckage and chaos behind. Eleanor stared after him, and a broken smile appeared on her trembling lips as tears mixed with the blood running down her face. Strangers. So, that was all she had ever been to him. For three years, she had been nothing more than a stranger in his world.