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Chapter 1 She's Done

Helena Ward never dreamed her own son would turn on her, nearly sending her to an early grave.

Stuck in a hospital bed, she overheard Ethan Carter and their kid, Adrian, going at it.

"Adrian, you knew she's allergic to oranges, didn't you?" Ethan's voice had an edge, like he was sizing up the situation.

"Yup," Adrian said, not even flinching.

"Then why the heck did you slip orange juice into her smoothie?"

"She was mean to Aunt Grace! That's what she gets for picking on her!"

Helena's heart felt like it'd been sliced wide open, the hurt cutting deep.

This "Aunt Grace" her son was ready to fight for? She was Helena's adopted sister—no blood connection, but Ethan's old flame from way back.

If Helena hadn't been dragged back as the Carter family's real heiress, Ethan would've put a ring on Grace's finger, his perfect match.

To Ethan, Helena was the bad guy who ruined their happily-ever-after.

He kept her at a distance, cold as ice. Even when he'd been messed up in that car crash—blind, barely able to walk—she'd been the one by his side, taking care of his every need.

Five years later, she still couldn't crack his frozen heart.

And now, even her son—the kid she nearly died giving birth to—was pulling away from her.

Helena pried open her tired, burning eyes and saw them by her bed. One tall, one small, their faces like two peas in a pod.

Her husband, who didn't give a crap about her. Her son, who she hadn't raised right.

She was just wiped out.

"You up?" Ethan asked, his voice as flat as his pressed white shirt and black slacks.

Helena pushed herself up, her eyes settling on Adrian. "Hey, buddy, your mom's laid up in the hospital. Got anything to say to me?"

Adrian's little face turned hard. "Mom, you pushed Aunt Grace into the pond at the family dinner! She got sick because of you. You gotta apologize! And if you mess with her again, I'm done with you as my mom!"

Her heart took another hit, like a sledgehammer to the chest.

At the Carter family dinner last night, Grace had put on a big show, claiming Helena shoved her into the pond.

Ethan, Adrian, and the whole Carter crew bought her story without a second thought.

Now her own son wasn't just defending Grace—he was ready to ditch her for good.

Helena swallowed the bitter taste in her throat. "So, you want Grace to be your mom, huh?"

Adrian snorted. "Duh! Aunt Grace is a dancer, she's super pretty, and she's got class. Of course I'd pick her!"

On the other hand, he couldn't help but see his own mom as a total buzzkill—always cooped up at home, rocking frumpy clothes like she's stuck in the '90s, and forever on his case about every little thing.

Dad and Grandma can't stand Mom, and man, I'm so done with her too,' he thought.

Helena nodded slowly, her pale lips twitching into a faint smile. "Alright, I'll make it happen."

Adrian froze, sneaking a quick look at Ethan.

Ethan's brows knit together. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"Ethan, let's get a divorce," Helena said, her voice steady as a rock.

Five years of marriage, and Ethan's heart belonged to someone else. He'd never laid a hand on her—not once.

The Carter family bigwigs kept pushing for a kid, so she'd gone through IVF just to shut them up.

For five years, she'd put up with Ethan's cold shoulder, Grace's sneaky digs, and her in-laws' dirty looks, all to give Adrian a real family.

But now? Her effort was a total joke.

She was done playing doormat.

"You're throwing in the towel over this?" Ethan's eyes glinted with a smirk. "Helena, you really gonna walk away from being Mrs. Carter?"

Helena looked down, knowing exactly what he meant.

To him, she was just some small-town nobody who'd lucked into the Carter name. Without that, she'd never have landed a guy like him.

In his mind, she should be kissing the ground for the fancy life she'd stumbled into.

Just yesterday, she'd been dropping hints to Grace to keep her claws off her marriage.

'And now she's tossing out divorce like it's no big deal? Gotta be her throwing a fit to make a point,' Ethan mused to himself.

Helena didn't bother explaining. "I'll have the divorce papers ready. Tomorrow, 9 a.m., courthouse."

The harsh hospital lights caught the fire in her clear, steady eyes.

Ethan's lips curled into a sneer. "Whatever you say."

He wasn't buying it—not for a second. 'Someone who has been glued to my side, eating out of my hand for five years, just up and letting go? Yeah, right.'

He figured it was all a game, her way of playing coy to keep him hooked.

"Sweet!" Adrian piped up, practically bouncing. "Dad, let's go tell Aunt Grace the good news! You and Mom are done, so Aunt Grace can marry you.

"I can finally tell my friends I've got a mom who dances, plays piano, and looks like a million bucks!"

He grabbed Ethan's hand, tugging him toward the door.

Helena watched them go, her heart twisting despite herself.

She leaned back against the headboard, shutting her eyes to choke down the pain. Once her IV was done, she checked herself out.

Back at their massive Creek Bay villa, the place felt like a ghost town.

Ethan and Adrian were probably off celebrating with Grace.

Helena left a draft of the divorce papers on the bedroom nightstand, then started packing.

It was almost laughable—five years of marriage, and she and Ethan still slept in separate rooms.

Five years in this house, and now that she was leaving, she didn't feel much of anything. Just free.

From now on, she wasn't anybody's daughter-in-law, wife, or mom. No more jumping through hoops to keep anyone happy.

At night, Ethan rolled in with a sleepy Adrian in tow.

The house was pitch-black—no warm glow from the living room lamp Helena always left on, no matter how late he got home.

Ethan's brow creased as he flicked on a wall light.

"Mr. Carter, you're back," Mary, the housekeeper, said, stepping out of her room.

Ethan grunted, handing Adrian off to her before heading upstairs to the master bedroom.

He loosened a couple of shirt buttons, then, on a whim, went to Helena's room. There, on the nightstand, was the divorce agreement.

It said she'd take only the seven million he'd given her, a 1,200-square-foot condo, and a car—nothing else. She was even giving up custody of Adrian.

Ethan let out a scoff, tossing the papers into the trash.

"Yeah, as if she's serious," he mumbled under his breath. "Ditch the kid? Come on, everybody knows Adrian's her whole damn world.

"Can't wait to see how she tries to talk her way outta this mess tomorrow."

The next morning, Mary called Adrian down for breakfast.

"Mary, what'd Mom make today?" he asked, rubbing sleep from his eyes.

"Mrs. Carter's not here. I made breakfast," Mary said plainly.

Adrian blinked, then grinned. 'Oh yeah, Mom said she is divorcing Dad! Awesome—now I could play my tablet and game all day, no nagging.'

He skipped to the dining room.

"Morning, Dad!" he chirped.

Ethan mumbled a reply, closing his tablet and starting on breakfast. One bite, and his face scrunched up.

"Ugh, this is awful!" Adrian spat out his sandwich, his little face puckering. "Mary, this sandwich is gross!"

"What? No way! Everything's fresh!" Mary said, totally confused.

"But Mom's sandwiches never tasted like this!" Adrian whined.

"Well, I wouldn't know about that," Mary said with a shrug.

Adrian's face crumpled, clearly bummed.

He thought about the killer breakfasts Helena used to whip up, and his mouth watered.

Yeah, she could be a pain, but her food? Next-level.

He glanced at Ethan, who'd barely touched his plate before pushing back his chair to leave.

Adrian hopped down. "Dad, I'm gonna call Mom."

Chapter 2 Playing Hard To Get

After storming out of the Carter family villa, Helena hauled her stuff to her fancy condo at Belleview Gardens, smack dab in the city's heart.

The place was a gem—three bedrooms, two baths, move-in ready with all the bells and whistles.

She got a cleaning crew in, added a few personal touches, and by eleven that night, she was wiped and hit the sack.

Slept like a log.

Next morning, her alarm screamed her awake.

Staring at the unfamiliar ceiling, she felt a little out of it, like she'd woken up in someone else's life.

Once her brain clicked on, she grabbed her phone and shut off the noise.

Back at the Carters', she'd drag herself out of bed at dawn to make breakfast for her husband and son.

Especially for Adrian—she didn't trust the help to get his food just right, so she handled it herself.

The kid was scrawny and picky as hell, so she'd mix things up, cooking new dishes to keep him happy.

Watching him go from a tiny peanut to a solid little guy warmed her heart like nothing else.

The memories hit her like a freight train.

Helena squeezed her eyes shut and let out a wry chuckle. No more playing short-order cook.

She lazed in bed a bit longer before rolling out to freshen up.

Right then, her phone buzzed—Adrian.

"Hey, what's wrong?" she answered.

"Mom, I want scrambled eggs, stuffed shrimp poppers, and some blueberry muffin crumble for lunch. You gotta come back and make it!" Adrian rattled off his favorite grub, his kid voice full of sass, like she was his personal chef on speed dial.

Helena took a beat, then said softly, "Adrian, your dad and I are calling it quits. It's gonna be tough for me to just swing by.

"Why don't you ask Mary or your new stepmom to cook something up?"

"No freaking way!" he shot back. "Auntie Grace's hands are for dancing and piano, not slaving in the kitchen!"

Helena's chest tightened like a vise. So, in her son's eyes, Grace was some high-class diva, while she was just the free help.

"Look, Adrian," she said, keeping her voice even, "I'm your mom, not your maid. I've got my own life now, and it's not gonna be all about you anymore."

Adrian's little brows knitted together. "Fine, I'll hire you to cook! Grandma says you grew up in the middle of nowhere and all you're good for is chores. How're you gonna pay your bills without Dad?"

Helena shut her eyes, swallowing the anger burning her up inside.

She could still see Adrian as a toddler, babbling "Mama" with stars in his eyes.

But the Carters and their clique had slowly poisoned him, feeding him garbage about how his "redneck" mom was beneath them.

Adrian pouted, clearly pissed, but before he could argue, Helena added, "Oh, and tell your dad not to blow off our nine o'clock at the courthouse."

"What's up, bud?" Ethan asked.

"I hate Mom! She won't come back to cook for me!" Adrian whined.

Ethan's face darkened. "She's still pitching a fit."

Adrian looked up, torn. "She also said to remind you about the courthouse at nine. Dad, is Mom really ditching you? Does that mean I'll never get her food again?"

He was stuck. Sure, he wanted Grace as his new mom, but he also wanted his old mom handling his meals.

Ethan ruffled his hair, cocky as ever. "Chill, she's not going anywhere. She'd never bail on you."

Adrian's eyes lit up, and he let out a smug little snort. 'Dumb Mom. She'll come crawling back, begging to cook my food.'

*****

Meanwhile, Helena got herself together and drove to the courthouse.

Belleview Gardens was in the thick of the city, and the streets were a madhouse—cars honking, traffic crawling.

She hadn't driven much in her five years as a stay-at-home mom, so she was a bit out of practice.

As she took a turn, a small figure darted into the street.

Her heart slammed into her ribs. She stomped the brakes, tires squealing. But the kid still went down right in front of her car.

Helena flew out, panic coursing through her, and found a little girl, maybe four or five, sprawled on the pavement.

Pale skin, cute bob haircut—she looked like a porcelain doll.

"Hey, sweetie, you okay?" Helena dropped to her knees, helping her up.

The girl's frilly white dress was scuffed, her tights torn, showing a scraped-up knee.

Her big, glossy eyes locked onto the injury, and she wailed, "Oww! It hurts so bad!"

"Don't cry, hon, don't cry. I'm gonna get you to a doctor, okay?" Helena didn't hesitate. After confirming the girl was alone, she scooped her up, buckled her into the car, and hightailed it to the hospital.

After confirming the girl was alone, she scooped her up, buckled her into the car, and hightailed it to the hospital.

At the same time, Ethan pulled up to the courthouse at nine sharp.

He didn't bother getting out, just yanked his phone from his pocket and dialed Helena.

"Hey, I'm here. Where you at?" he asked.

"Uh, I'm kinda stuck with something right now. Can you maybe…" Helena answered.

'Oh, come on,' he thought to himself, rolling his eyes. 'Stuck with something? Could that excuse be any lamer?'

Ethan cut her off with a scoff. "Helena, there's a limit to this drama queen crap. You think everyone's got time to burn like you?"

Back at the hospital, Helena stood in the hallway, staring at her phone as the call cut off with a beep.

She sighed, knowing Ethan probably thought she was pulling some sneaky mind game. No point arguing now.

"Parent, come in," a doctor called from the exam room.

Helena pocketed her phone and stepped inside. The little girl sat quietly, her knee bandaged up.

"She good, doc?" Helena asked.

"She's fine," the doctor said. "Keep the wound dry for a couple days and stick to light, healthy eats."

"Thanks, doc." Helena flashed a warm smile at the girl, then carried her to the hospital's waiting area.

The kid's big, shiny eyes were glued to her, so Helena ruffled her hair. "Claire, no more running around by yourself, got it?"

Claire Kingston—the girl's name, which Helena had learned on the drive—nodded.

Helena had already called the girl's guardian, who was on their way.

Good thing she'd been driving slow, or things could've been a disaster.

Claire's big eyes blinked up at her. "Miss, you married?"

Helena laughed, caught off guard. "Yup, I am. Why do you ask?"

Claire's face fell, her little lips pressing together, but she didn't say a word.

"Ms. Kingston!" someone called.

Helena turned to see a woman in her forties hustling over.

"Judy!" Claire chirped.

"Oh, you little troublemaker!" Judy Monroe scooped Claire up, looking like she'd aged ten years. "You nearly gave me a coronary! How could you sneak out while I was grabbing groceries?"

She turned to Helena. "You're Ms. Ward, right? Thank you so much for getting Claire to the hospital. Sorry for the hassle."

"No sweat," Helena said with a grin. She passed along the doctor's orders, waved bye to Claire, and headed out.

Just then, a sleek black Bentley rolled up to the curb. A tall, drop-dead gorgeous guy stepped out, his tailored dark suit fitting like a second skin.

He had this quiet, commanding vibe, like he owned the whole street.

"Uncle William!" Claire squeaked.

William strode over, taking Claire from Judy with a mix of sternness and worry. "You okay, kiddo?"

Claire shook her head, knowing a lecture was coming.

Before he could start, she blurted, "Uncle William, I saw the lady from the picture in your wallet!"

William froze, his sharp eyes narrowing.

"She's the one who brought me here," Claire went on, her tiny voice crystal clear. "But… she's married. Sorry, Uncle William, you're gonna be bummed!"

Chapter 3 Handing Over The Spotlight

Helena peeled out of the hospital parking lot and punched Ethan's number into her phone.

It rang a few times, then went dead. No answer.

She huffed, gripping the wheel, and made a beeline for Carter Group.

Five years married, and she could count her visits to this place on one hand.

The new receptionist gave her a blank stare, clearly clueless about who she was. "Sorry, ma'am, no appointment, no meeting with Mr. Carter."

Helena didn't bother explaining she was the boss's wife.

Instead, she pulled out her phone and fired off a text to Ethan: [I'm at the front desk.]

She twiddled her thumbs for a good thirty minutes before Ethan finally showed, striding out of the executive elevator with Grace trailing like a shadow.

His face was stone-cold when he saw her.

"What're you doing here?" he snapped, like she was crashing his party.

She'd come to drag him to the courthouse, plain and simple. "You got a minute?" Helena started. "We need to—"

"I'm swamped," he cut her off, voice sharp enough to slice through steel, and brushed past her like she was nobody.

Helena's brows furrowed. She took a step to follow, but Grace slid in front, blocking her like a human barricade.

"C'mon, Helena," Grace smirked, "why not stick to playing happy homemaker? Why chase fairy tales? Divorce? Seriously? You can make all the noise you want, but Ethan's not gonna bat an eye."

She was decked out in a cherry-red dress, curls bouncing, makeup dialed to perfection.

Years of dance gave her a figure that screamed look at me and an attitude to match.

Helena met Grace's smug grin with a cool stare, her voice low but pointed. "Funny, I'm trying to step aside and let you take center stage.

"But it sounds like you're hooked on playing the sidepiece. What, you get a rush from it?"

Grace froze, her eyes darting to the receptionist, who was all ears for the tea.

She let out a sharp laugh, leaning in. "Oh, Helena, I'm just trying to save you from looking like a sad sack. I could take your Mrs. Carter title any day, but I'm good.

"You're the real heiress, the legit wife, right? Too bad everyone—literally everyone—can't stand you and loves me."

Helena's gaze dropped, her fingers curling tight, but her face stayed calm as a lake. "You didn't want the title 'cause you couldn't handle Ethan when he was blind and busted up, huh? Scared you'd be stuck playing nurse for life?"

She knew she'd never match Grace's slick, big-city charm. Growing up out in the sticks didn't teach her how to play high-society games.

Her own parents, who'd gone through hell to find their long-lost daughter nine years ago, turned on her fast, thanks to Grace's knack for stirring the pot.

So when Ethan got in that car wreck, and the Carters demanded the Ward family honor the engagement, her parents knew Ethan was sweet on Grace. Still, they shoved Helena into the marriage instead.

Because Grace, with her fake tears, played the saint. "I've already stolen years of happiness that should've been my sister's. I won't wreck her marriage too."

"You're talking outta your ass!" Grace snapped, her eyes flashing as she dodged the truth.

Her phone buzzed.

She shot Helena a death glare before answering, strutting off. "Hi, Mr. Whitmore! You free for lunch? Ethan and I would love to treat you…"

Helena watched her go, lips pressed tight.

Grace was a bit of a name in the ballet scene, but a bum foot had her eyeing Tinseltown.

Samuel Whitmore was the big cheese, currently prepping a TV version of Nirvana, a novel-turned-script.

And Carter Group's CosmoFlow Entertainment was coughing up some of the cash.

Looked like Ethan was pulling strings to get Grace her big break.

Helena stood there a sec, then pulled out her phone and shot off a text: [I'm down for your offer.]

The reply came back quick: [For real? I'm screenshotting this! You ditch, you're a total pup!]

She chuckled and sent an "OK" back.

Five years as a stay-at-home wife, and even her own kid thought she was a nobody.

They all pegged her as some country bumpkin with no game.

What they didn't know? She'd been a semi-famous online novelist back in the day.

And Nirvana? That was her story.

Just weeks ago, her buddy and the show's producer, Owen Lancaster, had practically begged her to join the writing team and help adapt the script.

She'd waffled, too busy playing maid to the Carter boys.

What a laugh. Five years of busting her hump, and all she'd done was set the stage for someone else's big win.

As she stepped out of the Carter Group tower, her phone lit up with an unknown number.

She picked up. "Who's this?"

"Helena, it's Claire!" A sweet, tiny voice piped up.

Helena's tone melted like butter. "Hey, Claire-bear! What's good, kiddo?"

"You free for lunch? I wanna treat you."

Helena blinked, thrown for a loop, but grinned. "Why's a little munchkin like you treating me to lunch?"

"'Cause you helped me out today. My uncle says you gotta show folks you're thankful."

Claire paused, then added, "You'll come, right, Helena?"

That soft, pleading voice was impossible to turn down.

Helena didn't even try to play it cool. "You got it, kid."

A second later, a friend request popped up: [Claire's Uncle.]

She hesitated for a beat but added him. His profile pic was a fiery stretch of red maple trees.

It hit her like a memory—her foster mom's place out in the country had woods just like that.

Late fall turned them into a postcard, all vivid and stunning. A boy's face flickered in her mind.

Her phone pinged again. [11:30, Olive Garden, Room 308. That work?]

She snapped out of it and sent an "OK" back.

Olive Garden was a fancy, members-only spot with traditional garden vibes—chill, private, and tough to book unless one knew somebody.

Helena pulled into the lot and circled forever before spotting an open space. But no matter how she tried, she couldn't back her car in.

Cars started stacking up behind her, horns blaring as she blocked the way.

Her face went red, sweat beading on her forehead.

Just then, a tap on her window made her jump.

A deep, smooth voice came through. "Hop out. I'll park it for you."

She didn't need to be told twice.

Scrambling out, she barely glanced at the guy, just thankful as he slid behind the wheel and parked her car like it was no big deal.

A tiny hand tugged at her sleeve. "Helena!"

Helena looked down to see Claire, all big eyes and dimples.

She crouched to meet her gaze. "Hey, kiddo! You're here already. You didn't sneak outta the house again, did you?"

Claire shook her head, pointing at the car. "Nuh-uh! I came with Uncle William."

'So the guy who parked my car is Claire's uncle?' she wondered.

Helena straightened, watching as he shut the car door and strolled toward her.

The city's neon lights flickered as night rolled in. He stepped out of the shadows, his face coming into focus.

Her smile dropped.

Brown hair, deep eyes, and a face so striking it was both familiar and a total gut-punch.

'No freaking way. It's him,' she thought.

Chapter 4 Playing The Side Guy's A Bad Look

"Lena, been a hot minute, huh?" William stopped in front of her, his deep, magnetic eyes softening with a warm spark.

Lena. That name slammed her with nostalgia—she hadn't heard it in years.

Helena stood up slowly, sizing up the guy who used to be all rough edges and rebellion. Now? He was smooth, polished, like he'd walked out of a rom-com.

She tossed back a flat, "Yeah, been a while."

William flashed a grin, his eyes glinting with mischief. "Man, all these years, and you're still driving like you're wobbling on that rickety old bike from back in the day."

Helena rolled her eyes. 'And he's still running his mouth like he's auditioning for a roast.'

*****

At Creek Bay, Adrian, left to his own devices, had been glued to his tablet, lost in a gaming marathon all morning.

When Mary called him for lunch, he rubbed his bleary eyes, tossed the tablet aside, and shuffled downstairs.

At the dining table, he scanned the room—no Helena.

And the food? Definitely not the dishes he'd begged her to make that morning.

His little brows furrowed into a full-on pout.

"Mary, Mom didn't make lunch, did she?" he asked, his voice dripping with disappointment.

"Nope, your mom hasn't been back yet," Mary replied, keeping her tone neutral.

Mary could sense the tension in the house, but as the housekeeper, she knew better than to stick her nose in family drama.

Adrian's frown deepened, his little face scrunching up like he'd bitten into a lemon. 'Mom's still mad at us? That was just too much! Was she seriously trying to let her own kid starve?'

"Mary, I'm calling Mom," he declared, his voice sharp with indignation.

Huffing like a tiny tornado, Adrian stomped upstairs, grabbed his phone watch, and dialed Helena's number.

Meanwhile, Helena was walking with William, who was carrying Claire, heading toward a private dining room.

Her phone buzzed with Adrian's call, and she slowed her pace to answer.

"Hey?" she said, keeping her tone even.

"Mom, where the heck are you? Why didn't you come home to cook? How long you gonna keep up this sulky attitude?" Adrian's voice was pure, righteous indignation, like he was the parent scolding her.

Helena pressed her lips together, catching William's curious glance.

She pointed at the phone and stepped to a quiet corner. "Adrian, let me lay this out one more time, real clear: I'm not sulking or fighting with anybody.

"I'm done with your dad—we're getting a divorce. I'm not gonna be your personal chef on speed dial anymore."

She paused, softening just a touch. "If you really want my cooking, talk to me like a normal person. I'm busy today, but next time, give me a heads-up a day before, and I'll have food ready at my place for you."

Sure, she wasn't fighting for custody, but Adrian was still her son. Legally, she had duties as his mom.

Hanging up, Helena headed for Room 308.

As she passed another private room, the door swung open, and a server stepped out after dropping off food.

Helena caught a quick glimpse inside—Ethan and Grace were there.

Grace was raising a glass, all charm and dazzling smiles, toasting none other than big-shot director Samuel.

Helena didn't flinch. Her face stayed blank as she kept walking, like she hadn't seen a thing.

Inside the room, Ethan's phone lit up. It was Adrian.

He muttered a quick excuse to Samuel and stepped out to take the call.

"Adrian, what's up?" he asked, his tone clipped.

"Dad, Mom didn't come home to cook lunch again. She said if I want her food, I gotta…" Adrian spilled every word Helena had told him, his voice brimming with frustration.

Ethan's brow creased, irritation flaring up. 'So that's her game plan.'

He believed Helena was playing hardball, too proud to come crawling back after storming out. This was her way of baiting him to show up at her place and drag her home.

'Talk about petty moves,' he thought. 'Let's see how long she could keep up this tough-girl act.'

"Look, didn't Mary fix you something? You have to have Mom's cooking?" Ethan asked, his voice edged with annoyance.

"Hmph, Dad, don't you love Mom's cooking too?" Adrian shot back, his tone smug.

Ethan faltered, caught off guard, then grumbled, "Just eat what's on the table and quit being a picky little brat."

Five years, and Helena hadn't learned much, but she'd sure spoiled their taste buds.

'No wonder she's bold enough to throw divorce in my face this time,' he thought to himself.

In another private room, Helena slid into her seat, taking the glass William handed her with a soft "Thanks."

Her mind was still drifting, caught in a haze of memories.

It had been nine years since she'd last seen William. The cocky kid who acted like he owned the world had morphed into a total gentleman, all charm and easy confidence.

"I ordered some food. Wanna add anything?" William asked, sliding the menu her way with a casual smile.

Helena glanced at it, noticing he'd picked all her go-to dishes. Her lashes fluttered briefly, but she kept her cool.

"Nah, looks good to me," she said, handing the menu back.

William nodded, waving the server over to start bringing the food.

Claire, perched in her highchair, glanced between them, her little voice piping up like she was hosting a talk show. "Helena, you don't gotta skimp to save Uncle William's cash. He says he makes bank to spend on the girls he's into."

Helena froze for a split second, her lips twitching with amusement.

She caught William's quick glance, his eyes subtle but curious, like he was gauging her reaction.

She brushed it off, leaning over to ruffle Claire's hair. "With a cutie like you, no wonder your uncle's always got his wallet out," she teased, keeping her tone light.

Claire blinked her big eyes, tilting her head like she was confused. 'Did she totally miss the hint? "Helena, my uncle, he—'

"Claire," William cut in smoothly, his voice calm but firm, shutting down her matchmaking attempt.

The door swung open, and servers started bringing in the dishes, filling the room with the smell of food.

Helena stood up. "Sorry, gotta hit the restroom real quick," she said, flashing a quick smile before heading out.

Once she was gone, William raised a brow at Claire, his lips quirking. "Keep running your mouth like that, kid, and you'll scare her off."

Claire propped her chubby cheeks in her hands, looking like a tiny know-it-all. "My bad, Uncle William. I shouldn't be playing Cupid with you and Helena.

"She's married, and being the other guy's a lousy move."

William's jaw dropped slightly, and he let out a low chuckle.

"But I liked Helena the second I saw her. Why's she gotta be married?" Claire's little voice wobbled, her bottom lip trembling.

William leaned in, his tone softening. "What's so special about her, huh?"

"She smells like Mom," Claire said, her big, round eyes welling up with tears that spilled down her cheeks.

William's gaze softened, a flicker of sympathy crossing his face.

He scooped her onto his lap, wrapping her in a gentle hug. "No tears, kiddo. You like Helena? I'll work on being the other guy, just for you."

Claire sniffled, looking up at him with a mix of hope and doubt.

In the restroom, Helena stood at the sink, the sound of rushing water filling the air as she scrubbed her hands, staring at her reflection in the mirror.

Memories hit her like a tidal wave, bittersweet and heavy.

Before the Ward family claimed her, she'd lived with her foster parents in a small village outside Silverbrook.

She was twelve the first time she met William, helping at their fish stall in the market.

Some local punks had rolled up, snatching fish without paying a dime.

She'd stood her ground, cheeks burning, arguing with them, only to get mocked and harassed.

They were known troublemakers—nobody dared step in, even if they wanted to.

Then William showed up. A scrawny fifteen- or sixteen-year-old, all fire and grit, diving in without a second thought.

He took on the whole group, fearless, even pinning one guy to the ground and beating him until he could barely move. The rest bolted, freaked out by his sheer intensity.

That day, the bloody, defiant boy carved a permanent spot in her memory.

After that, they got close.

William lived in the next village over, showing up to help at the fish stall or patiently walking her through homework when she was stumped.

A shared umbrella on rainy days, laughter in the autumn maple groves—it all sparked something in her teenage heart.

She thought, maybe, he was into her too.

Until her sophomore year of high school, when she overheard him scoff to someone, "You serious? Me, into a fishmonger's kid? No way."

Chapter 5 Playing Her Cards

Helena twisted the faucet off, snagged a couple of paper towels to wipe her hands, and tossed them into the trash, ripples and all.

Back at the table, she caught Claire's red, puffy eyes, like the kid had been crying her heart out.

Claire shook her head, burrowing into William's arms, looking totally wiped.

"She's missing her mom," William murmured.

Helena vaguely recalled William's twin sister—stunning, with a face that echoed his.

She'd always greet her with a warm "Lena" and a big smile.

No wonder Claire felt so familiar right off the bat; it made Helena want to scoop her up and hold her tight.

"Claire's mom not around?" she asked gently.

William carefully covered Claire's ears, a flash of grief flickering in his deep, sharp eyes. "Her parents passed in a car wreck a year ago. She's been with me since."

Oh, that's why.' Helena's heart ached for the little girl, all pink and cute like a living doll.

"God, I'm so sorry. I didn't know," she said.

"It's fine," William said, easing his hands off Claire's ears.

His eyes were deep as night. "Claire's really taken to you, though. If it's not too much trouble, I hope you're cool with her wanting to hang out sometimes."

"Trouble? Nah, I'm head over heels for this kid," Helena said, meeting Claire's big, teary eyes with a warm grin.

"Helena, hug!" Claire flung her little arms wide.

Helena's chest tightened, memories of her own son at that age rushing back—so sweet, so glued to her side.

She swallowed the lump in her throat and pulled Claire into a warm hug. "What are you craving, Claire? I'll hook you up."

"That one!" Claire pointed, all excited.

"On it." Helena started helping Claire with her food, the soft glow of the lights catching the gentle curve of her face.

Every move she made was pure warmth.

William watched her, his gaze lingering on her soft profile, a faint smile tugging at his lips.

In another private room, Samuel was sweating bullets over Ethan's demands. Directors like him hated when fat-cat investors tried to cram their picks into the cast. But when the guy signing the checks calls the shots, even a big-deal director like Samuel was just a hired hand. He had to play nice.

Directors like him hated when fat-cat investors tried to cram their picks into the cast.

But when the guy signing the checks calls the shots, even a big-deal director like Samuel was just a hired hand. He had to play nice.

Take Ethan: he'd just thrown in an extra 17 million to lock Grace in as the lead for Nirvana.

That was the biz—talent's nice, but connections are everything. If someone with deep pockets wants to push you, one could act like hot garbage and still end up a star.

Samuel wasn't stoked, but for that kind of dough, he gritted his teeth and nodded.

Grace, thrilled to bits, shot Ethan a look so sweet it could give you a toothache.

After a hefty dinner, Samuel said he needed to "touch base" with the producer and split.

Ethan and Grace watched his car peel out, ready to head home themselves.

Then another car caught Grace's eye as it rolled by.

She squinted and gasped, "Ethan, isn't that Helena? What's she doing here?"

Ethan glanced up, spotting a familiar license plate. His brow furrowed tight.

Grace leaned in, her voice all honey and hints. "You don't think she's… following us, do you? She's always going on about divorce, but what if she's just digging for dirt? Snapping pics to hold over your head—blackmail you into doing what she wants."

"Snapping pics to hold over your head—blackmail you into doing what she wants."

Ethan's face turned dark as a storm cloud. He yanked out his phone and dialed Helena.

The second she picked up, he laid into her. "Helena, you stalking me now? Got nothing better to do with your life?

"Guess that's what you get growing up in the middle of nowhere—no class, no brains!"

In her car, Helena let out a sharp, bitter laugh at Ethan's nerve.

She didn't bother defending herself, just hit back hard. "Oh, yeah, I'm the one with no brains. Not like you, Mr. Big-Time CEO, strutting around with your sidepiece like you own the place while you're still married!"

"What the—" Ethan started, but Helena cut him off.

"I'm dead serious about the divorce, Ethan. Call me when you're ready to deal." She hung up before he could get another word in.

'Is she really serious about splitting up?' he wondered.

Grace, catching bits of the call, hid a sly smirk. "Oh, Ethan, don't let it get to you. I'd hate to see you all riled up," she purred. "Helena's probably still fuming about that Adrian allergy thing. Just sweet-talk her a bit, she'll come around."

'Sweet-talk her? That's her game,' Ethan thought, his doubts vanishing. 'Helena is was just playing hard to get, trying to guilt me into chasing her.'

"No way I'm playing her game," he muttered. "Let's bounce."

Grace's eyes glinted with triumph as she followed him, her steps light and smug.

*****

Back in her car, Helena tossed her phone aside, her face calm and cool.

If divorce didn't mean dealing with Ethan, she'd have blocked his sorry butt already.

When she got home, her phone lit up again.

Seeing the caller ID, she smirked. "Hey, what's up? Checking if I'm chickening out on the divorce? Relax, I'm not."

Owen laughed on the other end. "Nah, I'm not here to check your vibe. But if you keep playing housemaid for the Carters, I might just lose it. You're gonna be the death of me, woman."

Helena grinned. "So what's the call about?"

"Just giving you the tea. Your lovely husband's throwing cash around like it's Monopoly money to make Grace the star of Nirvana," Lu Xiao said with a sigh. "Another 17 mil to lock her in as the lead. She's a dancer, not an actor—she's gonna choke on this role!"

Helena's smile faded. She'd had a bad feeling when she saw Ethan cozying up to Samuel with Grace in tow.

"Owen," she said, "as the writer and screenwriter for Nirvana, do I get any pull on casting?"

"Kinda, yeah," he said. "But your husband's the one with the fat wallet. He's got the upper hand. If you wanna ditch Grace, you'd need…"

"Need what?"

"Another investor to stir the pot."

Nirvana was a joint gig between Silverbrook TV, CosmoFlow Entertainment, Pineriver Films, and Newrise Media.

Ethan's CosmoFlow Entertainment had the deepest pockets, giving him major sway. He could prop up whoever he wanted.

"Alright, let's set up a sit-down with the other investors," Owen suggested. "You and I can go talk some sense into them."

"Count me in," Helena said.

No way was she letting her blood, sweat, and tears of a project become Ethan's tool to pamper his fling.

That night, after washing up, Helena was on a video call with Owen and Samuel, hammering out casting for other key roles in Nirvana.

Then her phone buzzed with a call from the Creek Bay villa.

"Ma'am, you need to get back here ASAP. The little guy's got a fever."

Chapter 6 Kids Are A Total Pain

Helena's brow crinkled the second Mary's voice crackled through the phone.

Adrian had always been a fragile little guy, catching every bug that floated by. One wrong breeze, and boom—fever town.

She'd been out yesterday, and with no one keeping tabs on him, he'd probably caught something.

When Adrian spiked a fever, he turned into a tiny tornado with a side of drama.

He'd cling to her like a koala, begging for cuddles to fall asleep, and getting him to take his medicine was like wrangling a wild cat.

By the time he bounced back, Helena was usually so beat she'd end up sick herself.

And yet, Ethan and his hoity-toity family never tossed her a single "you good?"

Instead, they'd give her the side-eye, acting like she was a total flop for not keeping a kid in tip-top shape while stuck at home.

Thinking back on all the times they'd iced her out, Helena kept her voice steady.

"Mary, I already told your boss we're calling it quits. Adrian's his kid too. Hit him up," Helena said.

This wasn't just her load to carry—Ethan was the dad, and he needed to step up to the plate.

They were headed for divorce court; no way was he dodging dad duty anymore.

On the other end, Mary was drowning in Adrian's wails blasting from the nursery. Out of moves, she fumbled to dial Ethan's number.

Meanwhile, Ethan was wining and dining some big-shot clients, with Grace hanging on his arm like a trophy.

When he heard Adrian was burning up and Helena was nowhere to be found, he choked down a wave of annoyance, told Mary to call the family doctor, and fired off a call to Helena.

Helena, just stepping out of the restroom, saw his name light up her phone but didn't exactly sprint to call back.

Back when Adrian was sick, she'd ring Ethan, only to get a cold, "What am I, a doctor? Call the pediatrician first!"—if he wasn't already jet-setting on some "crucial" work trip.

'Now? Let him cool his jets for a change,' she thought.

Back at Belleview Gardens, Ethan's face—slightly buzzed from the wine—was dark as a storm cloud.

He muttered an apology to the clients, grabbed Grace, and peeled out for home.

The second they stepped through the door, Adrian's cries slammed into them from upstairs. "I don't want it! I don't want it! Get outta here! I want Mommy to hold me!"

Ethan's jaw tightened as he charged up the stairs and flung open the nursery door.

Adrian was a hot mess—face red as a fire truck, tears and snot everywhere, thrashing around in his PJs on the bed.

The family doctor and Mary were trying to sweet-talk him into taking his medicine, but the kid was having none of it.

Their hair was a disaster, Mary's blouse was missing a couple buttons, and they looked like they'd been through a blender.

Toys and random crap were scattered all over the floor.

"Mr. Carter, thank God you're back!" Mary gasped, practically ready to cry from relief.

She'd never realized what a handful the little guy was when he was sick—not with Helena always there to keep him in line.

"Adrian, you're running a fever and throwing a tantrum instead of taking your meds? What's your problem, kid?" Ethan snapped, his brows knitting into a scowl.

Adrian let out a wail that could shatter glass. "Mean Daddy! I feel gross, and you're yelling at me! Where's Mommy? I want Mommy!"

His sobs were gut-punching, and Ethan was about to lose his mind.

The thought of Helena blowing off his calls only cranked his temper up higher.

Before he could let loose, Grace tugged his sleeve. "Ethan, take a breather. Let me try calming Adrian down."

Ethan shot her a glance, his scowl easing just a smidge. He grunted and stepped back.

Grace plopped onto the bed, her voice all honey. "Hey, Adrian, Mommy's not here right now. How about a big ol' hug from Aunt Grace?"

Adrian rubbed his puffy, tear-soaked eyes and mumbled a pitiful "Auntie Grace," letting her pull him into her arms without a fuss.

Grace flashed a smug little smile. "You're such a champ, Adrian. Take your medicine like a boss, and when you're back to your awesome self, I've got a killer surprise for you."

That sparked Adrian's interest. "What surprise?"

"It's top-secret, buddy. But you gotta take your meds first," Grace teased, nodding at the doctor to hand over the medicine.

The Carters were swimming in cash, and Adrian was used to getting all kinds of fancy toys, so he wasn't exactly desperate for another gift.

But kids? They were suckers for a mystery, and Grace's bait worked like a charm.

Ethan, watching from the sidelines, let out a small breath, thinking maybe they'd cracked the code.

But then he thought of Helena—bailing on her kid, dodging his calls—and his face darkened again.

'Ghosting me, not picking up my calls—does she really think she's got me on a leash?' he thought to himself. 'It's just getting a kid to take some damn medicine. Any chick could pull that off!'

Yeah, not so much.

The second the fever reducer hit Adrian's tongue, he gagged and spat it out, coughing up a storm and barfing all over Grace.

She let out a scream that could wake the dead, staring at the mess on her clothes, and instinctively chucked Adrian back onto the bed.

She jumped up, frantically shaking out her outfit. "Adrian, why didn't you swallow it? How could you puke all over me?"

Already feeling like trash, Adrian was now dizzy and miserable after being tossed like a hot potato.

He burst into loud, sloppy sobs, puking again and turning the bed into a total warzone.

The room was a straight-up circus—crying, coaxing, and Ethan's head throbbing like a jackhammer.

Five years into their marriage, and Ethan had somehow never noticed.

Whenever he rolled in from work, Helena and Adrian were always all smiles, happy as clams to see him.

Even when Adrian was under the weather, he'd just be curled up in Helena's arms, softly calling "Daddy," not throwing a fit like a tiny hurricane.

Helena's gentle face flashed in his mind, and Ethan's lips pressed into a tight line, his headache kicking into overdrive.

Finally, Adrian cried himself out and passed out in Mary's arms.

Ethan slipped out of the room, rubbing his pounding temples, looking like he'd just survived a bar fight.

"Ethan, I'm so sorry. I'm totally out of my depth with kids—I was useless," Grace said.

She'd gotten splattered with Adrian's mess, so she'd raided the master bedroom and slipped into one of Ethan's crisp white dress shirts.

The fabric barely covered her thighs, showing off her long legs.

Ethan flicked his eyes over her and looked away. "You're probably wiped. Go grab something from Helena's closet. I'll have the driver take you home."

"Ethan, with your wife MIA, why don't I stick around tonight to help with you and Adrian?" Grace purred, sidling up to him, her hand grazing his chest.

"Nah, you'd just be in the way," Ethan shot back, brushing her off. His head was screaming after the kid's meltdown.

Grace had slipped into the shirt hoping to get closer to Ethan, but his shutdown hit her like a slap.

She bit her lip, her voice turning whiny. "Ethan, you think I'm not as good as her now, don't you?"

Ethan paused, then softened his tone. "It's not that. You're just not cut out for this kind of dirty work."

'So that's what he meant, she thought,' a smirk tugging at her mind. 'Duh, I'm still his dream girl, his forever crush!

'Even after I ditched him to chase my dreams overseas, no way a fish-market gal like Helena could steal my spot in his heart.

'I mean, they're still crashing in separate bedrooms, right?'

A sly gleam flickered in Grace's eyes.

Later, in Helena's bedroom, Grace snapped a selfie in just Ethan's white shirt and posted it to her social media with the caption: [Kids are a freaking nightmare! But we got this!]

She made sure only Helena could see it. Yup, she was totally sticking it to her.

*****

At Belleview Gardens.

The next morning, Helena woke up, scrolled through her social media, and spotted Grace's post.

Her face stayed stone-cold as she quietly took a screenshot and saved it to her phone.

Chapter 7 Wife Vs. Mistress

Helena dragged herself out of bed and grabbed her phone to call her bestie, Natalie Brooks.

"Hey, Nat, Adrian was running a fever last night. I'm not at Creek Bay anymore. Can you swing by and check on him today?" Helena said.

Natalie, her college bestie and one of Ethan's secretaries, had been Adrian's godmother since day one.

She was head over heels for the kid and would drop everything to help at Creek Bay when she had a spare minute.

When Adrian was sick, Nat was the only one besides Helena who could get him to chill.

"Mr. Carter hit me up at, like, 2 a.m., telling me to come by this morning. I'm already here," Natalie said, her voice dropping to a whisper. "Helena, what's the deal? Why'd you bolt from the house?"

'Bolt? That's what Ethan told her?' Helena thought. 'He thinks I am just throwing a hissy fit?'

Helena sighed. "I didn't bolt. I told Ethan I'm done. I want a divorce."

"What? Have you lost it? Why're you pulling the plug outta nowhere?"

"I'm just… done," Helena said, keeping it short.

"And Adrian? You're just gonna walk away from him too?"

Helena's gaze drifted to the floor, and she let out a soft hum.

"Look, Helena, I get that things with Mr. Carter are a mess. But even if you're over him, think about Adrian," Natalie said, her voice tinged with worry. "You divorce, and Grace is gonna swoop in and marry him.

"You know how it goes—new stepmom, and suddenly dad's checked out. And Grace? You know she's bad news. You really think she won't make Adrian's life hell?"

Helena had chewed on that thought plenty.

But another one kept nagging at her: She gotta love herself before she could love anybody else.

"Adrian's the Carter family's golden boy," she said. "With Madeline around, Grace wouldn't dare try anything stupid. Plus, Adrian's got a bigger thing for Grace than me right now. So why should I keep banging my head against a brick wall trying to win him over?"

She spilled the story about how Adrian's antics landed her in the hospital with an allergic reaction.

Natalie sucked in a sharp breath, stunned. After a long pause, she said, "He's just a kid, Helena. He doesn't get it. Don't hold it against him."

Helena let out a small laugh. "I know, Nat. You've been there for Adrian since he was in diapers, and you love him like he's your own. But the world keeps turning without me.

"Adrian's got a ton of people who've got his back. And even if Ethan and I split, I'm still his mom."

But that was where it stops. No more pouring her whole soul into her son. No more wasting her life on him and his dad.

On the other end, Natalie frowned at the phone's dial tone, her stomach in knots.

A cold voice sliced through from behind. "You talking to her?"

Natalie turned, locking eyes with Ethan, and gave a small nod.

Ethan looked like he'd been hit by a truck, his face haggard from a sleepless night.

He couldn't believe Helena had the guts to just ditch their son like that.

'Is she really trying to make me grovel to get her back? Fat chance,' he thought.

"Mr. Carter, if Helena goes through with the divorce, you gonna marry Grace?" Natalie blurted, her expression unreadable.

Ethan shot her a look that could freeze lava. "Keep your nose out of it."

No way did he buy that Helena would actually walk away from him.

'Pigs would fly before I'd believe that!' he thought to himself.

At Belleview Gardens.

Around noon, Helena's phone buzzed with a call from Owen.

He said, "There's a fancy business dinner tonight at the Horizon Hotel. The big-shot investors we need to schmooze will be there. I'm sending over a dress. Get ready, and I'll pick you up later."

"Cool, thanks," Helena said, warmed by Owen's thoughtfulness.

Owen was clued in about her divorce plans and her move out of Creek Bay.

As her ride-or-die friend, he was all in for Team Helena. He knew how much being Mrs. Carter had dragged her down.

She and Ethan had kept their marriage under wraps—five years, and he'd never once brought her to a single work event.

Owen probably figured she didn't have a gown stashed away, so he took care of it.

By 3 p.m., a delivery from Owen's assistant showed up—a jaw-dropping evening gown, plus a makeup artist hauling a full kit, all thanks to Owen.

Helena's heart did a little flip. She chatted with the makeup artist for a bit before letting her work her magic.

At 5 p.m., Owen rolled up to Belleview Gardens to grab her.

The second he saw Helena, his eyes nearly popped out of his head.

She was a straight-up stunner in a champagne off-the-shoulder gown—classy, not flashy.

Her long hair was swept up in a loose, effortless style, with soft curls framing her face.

Her skin was glowing, her eyes bright and sparkling. No jewelry, just pure, no-filter elegance that could stop a room.

"Hot damn, girl, clothes really do make the woman," Owen teased. "I almost thought I was picking up some red-carpet starlet."

Helena laughed. "All thanks to that wizard of a makeup artist you sent. She could make a scarecrow look like a supermodel."

Owen swung the car door open, smirking. "Nah, you gotta have the natural vibes to pull it off."

As Helena slid into the car, her mind flashed back to her first big public moment after the Carter family took her in nine years ago.

She was sixteen, and they threw a huge welcome bash at the villa to celebrate her return.

Grace had handed her a pink gown and a pile of gaudy jewelry, acting all sweet and saying she'd help her "steal the show."

Helena, new to the family and totally clueless, thought Grace was legit. Big mistake.

Grace was a snake with a smile. She'd decked Helena out like a tacky, try-hard socialite, making her the punchline of the party.

Worse, Grace told their mom that Helena had insisted on wearing the pricey diamond necklace meant for her, painting Helena as a shallow, selfish brat in front of everyone.

Helena's lips twisted into a wry smile as the car pulled up to the venue, snapping her back to reality.

The ballroom was like something out of a movie, with massive crystal chandeliers throwing sparkles everywhere.

Men in sharp suits and women in flowing dresses mingled, glasses clinking in a lively buzz.

Owen led Helena inside, working the room like a pro and introducing her to everyone with a charming grin.

Up on the second floor, William stood in a sleek dark suit, looking like he'd walked off a magazine cover.

He sipped his drink, his eyes zeroing in on Owen's hand resting lightly on Grace's waist. His gaze darkened, heavy with something unspoken.

His buddy Matthew sidled up, following his stare with a playful glint in his flirty eyes. "So, William, that's gotta be the Lena you've been mooning over, right? The one Claire's always yapping about?"

"She's a total knockout," Matthew went on. "No wonder you've stayed single all these years. What's the move now? You really playing the sidepiece to steal her away?"

William took a slow sip, staying quiet, his eyes glued to the figure below.

Matthew's grin widened. "Oh, and heads-up—her husband Ethan just rolled in with his arm candy. You think we're about to get a front-row seat to a wife-versus-mistress throwdown?"

Chapter 8 Falling Into His Arms

Owen worked the hall like a pro, flashing smiles and shaking hands, until he spotted William and Matthew strutting down the grand staircase.

He gave Helena a nudge and started weaving through the crowd toward them, dishing the dirt on the two guys as they went.

"Helena, see that guy up there in the slick purple suit? That's Matthew Sinclair, the big cheese at Newrise Media. He's the money man we're here to win over tonight," Owen said, keeping his voice hushed like he was spilling state secrets.

Helena followed his gaze, zeroing in on Matthew.

She hadn't been to a swanky gig like this in years—five years of marriage had kept her out of the game—so her nerves were on high alert.

Determined not to make a total fool of herself, she locked her focus on the purple-suited guy, barely clocking William at first.

Owen kept the intel coming. "Newrise Media's only been around a couple of years, so it's not as big a deal as CosmoFlow Entertainment. But don't sleep on it—Matthew's got serious juice.

"He's a Sinclair, one of Crestmoor's top ten families. The current head's got three sons, and Matthew's the youngest.

"He wasn't about to play ball with his dad's plan to stick him in the Sinclair Group, so he launched his own entertainment company just for kicks. Newrise is basically his side gig.

"If we can get Matthew to rethink casting Grace as the lead in Nirvana, we might just pull it off and get her swapped out."

Helena nodded, soaking it all up with a quiet "Gotcha."

Then Owen tilted his head toward the guy next to him. "Now, check out the dude beside him. That's William Ashford, and his deal's a whole other level. The Ashfords? They're Crestmoor's heavy hitters—business, politics, global empire, you name it. William's the one slated to take over."

Helena's gaze shifted to William, and when their eyes locked, her breath hitched like she'd been sucker-punched.

She'd known William back when they were kids, tearing around the countryside. Back then, she thought he was just some regular Joe. No way she'd have guessed he was Crestmoor royalty.

"But William's got some skeletons in his closet," Owen muttered, leaning in closer.

"What kind?" Helena asked, her curiosity sparking.

"He's the Ashford family's dirty laundry—illegitimate. They only brought him into the fold nine years ago," Owen said. "Don't let his smooth-talking vibe fool you.

"Word on the street is he's got a ruthless side. The original heir was his half-brother, but five years ago, the guy went down in a sketchy fire.

"Some folks whisper William had something to do with it—a casualty of the Ashford family's power plays."

Helena's fingers fiddled with the hem of her dress as memories of her first run-in with William came rushing back.

He'd been intense, maybe even a little scary, but never cruel to her. Sure, he didn't mess around with dirtbags, but she always saw him as a stand-up guy, loyal to the bone.

Those rumors? Total BS, as far as she was concerned.

Still, her mind snagged on something William had said nine years ago, and a bitter smirk tugged at her lips.

"No shocker he swore he'd never fall for a fishmonger's kid!" she thought, rolling her eyes. "With his high-and-mighty family, of course he'd look down on a small-town nobody like me. Typical shallow dude!"

Grumbling to herself, Helena clutched her dress and trailed Owen toward the two men.

She wasn't used to wobbling around in heels, and her head was all over the place, so just as they got close, her ankle buckled, and she stumbled forward with a startled yelp.

"Whoa, easy!" A deep voice cut through the buzz, and before she could eat floor, William's strong arms caught her.

Helena looked up, her eyes crashing into his—worried, and way too captivating.

Her heart was doing backflips, and she couldn't tell if it was from the near-fall or the fact that she was practically in his lap.

Matthew, standing nearby, let out a cheeky chuckle. "Well, hell, William, you've got that heartbreaker vibe on lock. Just standing there, and women are literally falling all over you!"

Helena's face went tomato-red as she scrambled to her feet. "Sorry, I didn't mean to—I just tripped."

"No sweat!" Matthew grinned, his eyes twinkling like he was in on some private joke. "My man here's got a serious thing about personal space. If he wasn't into you, he'd have yeeted you out the door by now. Catching you? That's basically a five-star review."

Helena's cheeks were on fire. She kept her eyes down, brushing off Matthew's comment as rich-guy nonsense.

Owen, totally thrown by the whole scene, still had his hand half-out like he'd meant to grab her.

He caught the way William was staring at Helena—something flashed in the guy's eyes. 'Oh, damn. This dude's got it bad.'

Matthew, always ready to stir the pot, smirked. "Owen, you gonna introduce us to this stunner or what?"

Snapping out of it, Owen jumped in. "Right, yeah. This is Helena Ward, the mastermind behind Nirvana."

Matthew's eyes lit up like he'd just cracked a case. "You're the writer? Folks always say brainy women are plain, but damn, you're the full package! I'm Matthew Sinclair. Pleasure's all mine."

Helena could tell this guy was a total player, probably had women swooning left and right.

She smiled politely. "Thanks for the compliment, Mr. Sinclair."

"No prob," Matthew said with a wink, then shot William a look like, "Your turn, bro."

William's gaze stayed glued to Helena, his lips parting just a smidge. "Good to see you again, Le—"

"Mr. Ashford, hey," Helena cut in, her tone cool as ice, like they'd never met.

William’s brow twitched, barely swallowing the "Lena" he was about to let slip. "Ms. Ward, nice to see you."

Matthew watched the whole thing, clearly loving the drama. 'Oh, this is gold. She's totally giving him the cold shoulder.'

Owen, sensing the moment, got down to business. "Mr. Sinclair, like I said, I brought Ms. Ward here to talk about the casting for Nirvana."

Matthew nodded, all ears. "Got it. So, Ms. Ward, you're not feeling Grace, the ballerina, for the lead?"

"Nope," Helena said, her voice steady as a rock.

"Why's that?" Matthew asked, leaning in like he was actually curious.

Helena didn't miss a beat. "First, Grace isn't a trained actress. Tossing a dancer with zero screen time into a lead role is a recipe for disaster.

"Second, her whole look's wrong. My main character's a gritty, take-no-crap woman who rises from nothing. Grace is too tall, too delicate, and way too high-class. She's not it."

She paused, then dropped the hammer. "And third… casting her is like sitting on a lit firecracker. She's totally a walking disaster."

Meanwhile, across the room, Grace was gliding toward them on Ethan's arm, working the crowd like she owned the place.

She spotted Owen and caught the tail end of Helena's tumble into William's arms.

Ethan had already filled her in on William's big-shot status. The guy was the whole package—looks, power, one named it.

She didn't recognize Helena, figuring she was just some rich girl or actress pulling a move to get in good with the elite.

'Seen that play a million times,' she thought.

Grace's eyes lingered on William. He was like some icy, untouchable dream—drop-dead gorgeous but distant, the kind of guy one could only drool over from afar.

Even Ethan, a trust-fund kid with plenty of charm, looked like a nobody next to William. The guy was in a league of his own.