That dress—she’d designed it at eighteen. It had even won an award. Countless heiresses had begged to buy it, but she refused every single one.
Because it was meant for her.
She’d dreamed of wearing it on her wedding day. To Andrew.
And he knew that. But instead of shutting Nicole down, he hesitated—then spoke.
“Lena, if you sell me the gown, I’ll agree to whatever condition you name.”
A smirk ghosted across her lips. “No need. Nicole’s right—I should give you both my blessing. Consider it my wedding gift.”
She made a quick call. Minutes later, boutique staff arrived, carefully handing the gown to Nicole.
Beaming, Nicole snatched it up and bolted for the fitting room, too thrilled to keep tormenting Lena.
Lena watched her go, her face unreadable, then turned back toward her room. No anger. No sadness. Just nothing.
Andrew, however, stood frozen, staring after her, lost in thought.
***
Late that night, Lena packed her suitcase alone. Almost everything was set—the paperwork, the plans. Soon, she’d be gone.
Just as she stashed her luggage and was about to crash, the door slammed open.
Andrew stormed in, grabbed her wrist, and snapped, “What did you do to the wedding dress? Nicole put it on, and now she’s covered in rashes. Itching like crazy. Were you trying to kill her?”
Under the dim yellow light, his eyes burned, sharp enough to cut.
Lena yanked back. “I didn’t touch it! I wouldn’t—I couldn’t! Why would I hurt her?”
His face went cold. Then—shove. She hit the bed, his glare like ice.
“I don’t care what excuse you have. You still won’t let me go, fine. But going after Nicole?” His voice dropped, lethal. “You’d better pray she’s fine, or else—”
Before he could finish, a maid rushed in. “Mr. Rohan! Ms. Jenner just fainted!”
Andrew stiffened. “Watch Lena. Don’t let her escape.”
Then he was gone.
