Elena’s First Investor
Elena’s POV:
The week passed in a blur. Yesterday the first foundation was laid but now we need investors to push it further and today is the day that I would know if I would get an investor or not.
I am pitching my project to my first investor today.The conference room smelled faintly of stale coffee and old power.
Rows of men in tailored suits sat around the gleaming oak table, their watches catching the light like weapons. The women present were polished, sharp, their eyes cold as cut diamonds. Every one of them had built empires on numbers, on ruthlessness, on the belief that money was both sword and shield.
And here I was.
My palms were slick against the thin folder I clutched. The blueprints, projections, and carefully typed proposal suddenly felt like paper shields in a war zone.
I cleared my throat, forcing my voice steady. “Thank you all for meeting me. I’m here today to discuss Riverside Housing—”
One of the men snorted before I could finish. “Riverside? That graveyard Ethan dumped last year?” He leaned back in his chair, smirking. “You’re wasting your time.”
A ripple of laughter ran around the table.
Heat burned up my neck, but I pressed on. “Yes, Riverside has been abandoned. Yes, it’s been called unprofitable. But that’s because Ethan treated it like charity. He didn’t understand the market. I do.”
Another investor, a woman with severe cheekbones, raised a brow. “And what exactly makes you think you know better, Miss Mendez? Last I checked, you were the one Ethan left at the altar.”
The jab hit hard, but I smiled tightly. “You’re right. I was. And that’s exactly why I won’t repeat his mistakes.”
The room went silent for a beat. Some of the smirks faded, replaced with faint curiosity. Good. A crack in the wall.
I flipped open the folder and slid copies down the table. “Here’s the truth: Riverside doesn’t need to be a vanity project. It can be a profitable mid-range housing development with a sustainable model. Lower risk, long-term growth. Not flashy, but stable. And stability,” I let my gaze sweep the table, “is what Ethan never understood.”
For the next twenty minutes, I outlined projections, highlighted community growth trends, and pointed out how the project could generate steady returns. My voice wavered once or twice, but every time I saw another dismissive smirk, my resolve hardened.
By the time I finished, my throat was dry, my pulse thundering.
Silence.
Then the man at the far end chuckled. “Cute,” he said, tossing the proposal onto the table like trash. “But not realistic. No one with half a brain will touch a project Ethan already poisoned.”
The others murmured in agreement. Some shook their heads. One openly yawned.
And just like that, the fragile bubble of hope I had carried into the room began to deflate.
But then—
“I’ll invest.”
The voice was calm, deliberate, and it cut through the room like a blade.
I whipped my head toward the source.
An older man, silver-haired with eyes sharp as steel, leaned forward. His name tag read: Charles Grant. The Charles Grant. A veteran investor who had once built a fortune out of scraps, a man known for spotting potential in disasters.
The others stared at him in disbelief. “Charles, you can’t be serious—”
“I am,” he said simply. He picked up my proposal again, flipping through it with deliberate care. “Riverside isn’t flashy, no. But she’s right—stability matters more than ego. And I like fire when I see it.” His eyes flicked to me. “This one’s not afraid to bleed for it.”
My breath caught in my throat.
Charles Grant. My first investor.
The room erupted in argument—half mocking, half incredulous—but it didn’t matter. For the first time, someone had looked at me and seen more than Ethan’s discarded fiancée.
He had seen potential.
Damien POV:
I watched from the corner of the room, arms crossed, face unreadable.
She hadn’t known I was there. I wanted it that way. This was her fight, her battlefield. If I hovered too close, they’d all think she was just a puppet dancing to my strings.
But as I stood in the shadows, I found myself… impressed.
They mocked her. They laughed at her. But Elena didn’t crumble. She stood straighter. Spoke louder. Her voice didn’t carry the cold precision of numbers—it carried conviction. Fire.
Conviction wins more wars than statistics.
And then Charles Grant—old bastard, sharp as ever—declared he would invest. I saw Elena’s lips part, her eyes widen in disbelief. That moment was worth more than any profit margin.
Because it wasn’t me who gave her this win. It was her.
And God help me, I liked that more than I should.
Elena’s POV:
After the meeting, my legs nearly gave out as I stumbled into the hallway. I leaned against the cool marble wall, clutching the folder to my chest, trying to breathe.
One investor. Just one. But it was enough to keep Riverside alive.
The sound of footsteps made me snap upright. Damien emerged from around the corner, hands in his pockets, expression unreadable.
“You were there?” I asked, stunned.
His lips quirked. “I was curious if you’d make it out alive.”
I rolled my eyes, but relief bubbled in my chest. “Well, I did. Barely.”
He stepped closer, eyes locked on mine. “You did more than survive, Elena. You turned a room full of wolves into listeners. And you made Charles Grant of all people place a bet on you.” His voice dropped, low and dangerous. “That’s no small thing.”
The warmth in his tone caught me off guard. It wasn’t the smug approval I’d expected. It was… genuine.
“Thank you,” I whispered.
He studied me for a long moment, then leaned in, his voice brushing against my ear. “Don’t thank me. This was all you. Remember that.”
Shivers ran down my spine.
For the first time since my father’s betrayal, since Ethan’s humiliation, since I’d been stripped of everything—I felt like I was building something real.
And as Damien’s gaze lingered on me, unreadable and heavy, I realized something else.
Winning investors wasn’t the only dangerous game I was playing.