Chapter 9 Le Méridien
The sleek black car pulled up to the grand entrance of the Le Méridien Royale, a luxury resort nestled just outside the city — the official host for the International Fashion Expo. Tall glass panels shimmered under the golden hue of the setting sun, and well-dressed porters in tailored navy-blue uniforms sprang into motion as the vehicle stopped.
Elena stepped out first, sunglasses perched on her face, her caramel-toned trench coat cinched tightly at her waist, flowing with grace as the breeze picked up her dark curls. Behind her, Brielle emerged from the other side of the car, all poise and sass in a cropped leather jacket and high-rise flared jeans, snapping a quick selfie before glancing around the lavish compound.
"This place is screaming elegance," Brielle murmured, eyes scanning the multi-level terraces lined with tropical palms and designer lighting. “Not bad for a working trip, huh?”
Elena smirked. “Yeah. Let’s just hope the chaos hasn’t arrived yet.”
Inside the resort, a polished concierge welcomed them with bright smiles and escorted them through the marbled lobby with gold accents, velvet lounges, and avant-garde art on every wall. Guests from around the world buzzed in excitement, models and fashion execs weaving through the crowd.
“Ms. Montclair, Ms. Brielle—welcome. Your suites are ready.”
They were led into a private elevator and taken to the guest wing reserved for VIP attendees. On the second floor, the concierge gestured toward two adjacent doors.
“Ms. Montclair, this is your suite—201. Ms. Brielle, yours is just upstairs in 305.”
Brielle raised a brow. “They’re separating us already? Not even one night of roommate gossip?” She turned to Elena with a grin.
Elena laughed. “Don’t worry. I’ll call you the second something dramatic happens.”
As they turned to enter their rooms, the sound of rolling luggage drew Elena’s attention. Just across the hallway, the door to suite 202 swung open.
She paused.
Jaxon Wentworth stepped out.
Clad in a crisp white shirt, the top two buttons undone, and dark charcoal trousers, he looked just as infuriatingly poised as ever. His gaze met hers, and for the briefest moment, they both froze.
“You’ve got to be kidding me,” Elena muttered under her breath.
Jaxon looked just as surprised, if not slightly amused. “You again.”
“What are you doing here?” she asked, trying to keep her voice level, arms crossed in annoyance.
“Hello! I am obviously settling in,” he replied coolly. “Just like you.”
“But you didn’t say you were coming to the suite,don't you have money to buy a building or something.”
Jaxon shrugged, stepping toward his door. “It came up last minute. My company wanted representation, and apparently,no time for plans. Remember .”
Elena rolled her eyes. “Of course.”
Brielle, who had been watching the whole exchange like it was a live episode of The Real Heiresses of Manhattan, cleared her throat. “Okay, I’ll let you two lovebirds enjoy your awkward tension. I’ll head to my suite and unpack.”
“You are not helping,” Elena whispered as Brielle winked and left for the elevator.
Jaxon smirked, turning back toward his suite. “Try not to bang on the walls too loudly tonight.”
Elena narrowed her eyes. “Trust me, I’d rather sleep in the lobby.”
She stormed into her suite, slamming the door just a little harder than necessary. Inside, she tossed her handbag onto the couch, muttering to herself.
“This is going to be the worst trip ever.”
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The hum of the private jet’s engines dulled to a low growl as the aircraft descended gently toward the exclusive executive tarmac of the international airport. The runway below gleamed in the afternoon sun, slick from a recent drizzle. Caleb Donovan leaned back in his leather seat, swirling the amber liquid in the short glass he held loosely in one hand. A faint smirk curved his lips as the aircraft’s wheels kissed the ground with barely a bump.
"Smooth landing," he murmured, more to himself than anyone else.
Across from him sat his assistant, Adrian—sharp-suited, tablet in hand, already scanning through the itinerary. He looked up as the jet began taxiing toward the private terminal.
“Sir, your car is waiting. I’ve confirmed your suite at Le Méridien Royale. They’ve blocked off an entire wing for VIPs.”
“Good,” Caleb said simply, eyes distant.
There was a pause before Adrian added carefully, “Just so you know… Jaxon Wentworth is confirmed to be at the same resort.”
Caleb didn’t blink. His gaze remained fixed on the window. “Of course he is.”
He set the glass down on the polished walnut table and rose, tugging on his black trench coat. Tailored to perfection, it hugged his lean frame as he moved toward the door, eyes sharp, mind already several steps ahead.
He wasn’t here for fashion.
He wasn’t here for spectacle.
He was here to stake his claim.
To win the contract that would give his company—Hart International—a dominant presence across Europe’s luxury markets. A prize both he and Jaxon were after.
But there was more.
Elena Montclair.
She wasn’t just beautiful. She was clever. Elegant. Controlled. And most importantly… close to Jaxon now. Too close. The announcement of their engagement had stirred Caleb’s curiosity more than he'd like to admit. He didn’t buy the fairytale.
He knew power moves when he saw them.
And if Jaxon had aligned himself with the Montclairs, there had to be more at stake than love. Caleb's instincts told him Elena was his rival’s new leverage — a jewel Jaxon intended to use for gain.
Fine. Caleb would take that leverage... and flip it.
He stepped off the jet, the wind catching the edges of his coat as he made his way down the stairs. Waiting on the tarmac was a matte black Maserati with tinted windows. His driver opened the door.
As Caleb slid into the backseat, he spoke coolly to Adrian. “Send flowers to the event coordinator. A little charm goes a long way.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Oh,” Caleb added, glancing out the window as the car pulled away. “And discreetly find out where Elena Montclair is staying.”
Adrian hesitated only for a second. “You think she’s part of the expo?”
“I think she’s a part of Jaxon,” Caleb replied flatly. “And if I know anything about power games, that makes her very valuable.”
As the Maserati sped toward the hotel, Caleb leaned back, a gleam in his eye.
\---
The hotel bar shimmered in soft gold hues, tucked away in the corner of the grand lobby like a quiet secret. Plush velvet seating and low music wrapped the space in a sense of ease and sophistication — a perfect pause before the fashion chaos of the following day.
Elena and Brielle had just settled into their favorite corner booth, having tossed their luggage into their suites minutes ago. Elena still wore her beige travel coat draped over a sage green jumpsuit, while Brielle, always effortlessly sharp, had on sleek black slacks and a deep burgundy top that popped under the lights.
“Okay,” Brielle said as she scanned the cocktail menu. “We are officially here. One night of rest before you get swallowed whole by fabric, flashbulbs, and designer chaos.”
Elena laughed, letting her head fall back against the booth. “I’d be more excited if I wasn’t sharing a hallway with my future husband.”
Brielle’s eyes sparkled. “You mean your contractually obligated fake husband?”
“Exactly,” Elena muttered. “How did I end up in a suite directly across from Jaxon Wenthworth? There’s like, what? Three hundred rooms in this hotel?”
“It’s fate, babe.” Brielle raised an eyebrow. “Or karma. Maybe you should’ve let me handle the room booking.”
Elena smirked, “I thought you were out saving the world with that last-minute Paris job?”
“Guilty,” Brielle admitted with a grin. “But I would’ve made sure you didn’t end up staring at him every morning while brushing your teeth through the peephole.”
The waiter came by, and the girls ordered a round — mojito for Elena, old-fashioned for Brielle.
“So,” Brielle said, leaning in. “How are we playing tomorrow? You and Mr. Brooding — walking hand in hand for the cameras?”
“I hope not,” Elena groaned. “But the press will be there. And both our companies are watching. We’ll have to at least act… cordial.”
“Just remember — no pet names, no eye contact longer than four seconds,” Brielle teased. “The terms of that holy contract you wrote still stand, right?”
Elena grinned. “Damn right they do.”
They clinked glasses.
A moment of comfortable silence passed as they sipped their drinks and watched the mingling crowd of executives and stylists fill the room.
Brielle gave her a sidelong glance. “So. You never told me… how’s it feel seeing him again? You know, outside boardrooms and forced dinners?”
Elena tilted her head, thoughtful. “Surreal. He looks... calm. Like nothing about this whole engagement deal bothers him.”
“Well, you wouldn’t be able to tell if it did. Jaxon’s like a corporate sphinx.”
“True,” Elena said dryly. “Except when he sends texts like, ‘Don’t be late tomorrow. The sooner we finish, the sooner we can go back to pretending we don’t know each other.’”
Brielle blinked. “Wow. Charming as always.”
“He makes it so easy to want to punch something,” Elena muttered into her glass. “I mean, he didn’t even mention at dinner that he was coming to the expo. I bring it up, and he’s just like, ‘Oh, yeah. Got picked last minute.’”
“Mysterious,” Brielle said with a smirk. “Or calculated.”
Elena rolled her eyes. “He’s impossible. Tomorrow’s going to be a nightmare.”
Brielle raised her drink. “Then cheers to surviving it. And hey — if it gets too much, just trip him on the runway. Accidentally, of course.”
Elena laughed. “Tempting.”
As the two clinked glasses again, Elena glanced toward the glass wall of the bar, her reflection soft and shadowed in the light.
She leaned in, voice low. “This is going to be the worst trip ever.”
Brielle smiled wide. “At least you’ll have me there when it crashes.”
The corridor was still, bathed in the dim glow of golden sconces that dotted the hallway. Most of the hotel guests had already retreated to their suites, the quiet now a far cry from the earlier buzz of check-ins and greetings. Elena stepped out of the elevator, heels in hand and her travel coat slung loosely over one shoulder. She’d just said goodnight to Brielle downstairs at the bar, laughter still echoing faintly in her mind. But now, the silence felt heavier.
As she rounded the corner toward her suite, her steps slowed.
A voice. Low, clipped. Tense.
Her eyes flicked toward the door across from hers — Jaxon’s suite.
It was slightly ajar.
She didn’t mean to listen, not really. But something in the way his voice cut through the stillness made her pause.
“I told you before,” Jaxon said sharply, his back to the hallway, unaware of her presence. “My personal life is no longer your concern.”
There was a pause.
Then his voice again, colder now. “Because we were over a long time ago, Maya. You made sure of that.”
Elena blinked, startled.
Who’s Maya?
The voice on the other end — faint, muffled — was high-pitched and fast. Though Elena couldn’t make out the exact words, the tone was unmistakable: angry… maybe even desperate.
“You don’t get to show up out of nowhere and start demanding explanations,” Jaxon snapped. “I owe you nothing. This—whatever this is—you need to let it go.”
Another pause.
A softer, lower response.
Then his voice, rising slightly. “Don’t test me, Maya. Don’t twist this. You and I are done.”
Silence.
Then the sharp beep of the call ending.
Elena stepped back just as the door clicked fully shut, heart quickening.
She fumbled for her keycard, her mind spinning. She hadn't meant to eavesdrop, but now the name and the argument were stuck in her head like a splinter.
Inside her room, she tossed her coat aside and leaned against the door, jaw tight.
Maya?
Why did he sound so… angry? Hurt?
She crossed to the window, city lights glittering in the distance. But her thoughts weren’t on the view.
So Mr. Composed has skeletons too, she thought, exhaling sharply.
Then, almost under her breath, “Who the hell is Maya?”
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