Chapter 11 Strategy
The lights dimmed slightly as the final gavel struck the podium, signaling the end of the auction segment. The elegant dress that had turned every head in the room, now claimed by none other than Jaxon Wentworth, sent an echo of whispers rippling through the crowd. Elena sat still, her fingers lightly wrapped around her champagne flute, the remnants of her composure balancing precariously on the edge of unraveling.
Beside her, Brielle slowly turned, her expression unreadable at first—until the curve of a slow, mischievous smile tugged at the corner of her lips.
“Well,” Brielle began, her voice light but tinged with meaning, “that escalated quickly.”
Elena didn’t answer right away. She kept her gaze fixed on the now-empty stage, her thoughts scattered and electric. That bidding war wasn’t just about fabric and glittering seams—it was something deeper, more primal. A territorial declaration.
“That was ridiculous,” Elena muttered finally, setting down her glass a bit harder than she intended. “He just… what was that even about?”
“You tell me,” Brielle said, folding one leg over the other, her gaze flickering toward where Jaxon stood, now in quiet conversation with Damon. “Because it sure as hell looked like two overgrown boys swinging swords over your dress.”
Elena exhaled, leaning back into her seat, overwhelmed and unsure whether to be flattered or furious. The dress wasn’t just any outfit—it had been designed for her, tailored in Italy, custom-stitched to fit her curves and command attention. Watching Jaxon fight tooth and nail over it, against Caleb no less, stirred something in her she couldn’t quite name. Annoyance? Confusion? A dangerous mix of both?
“You should’ve seen his face,” she murmured. “He looked like he’d rather die than let Caleb have it.”
Brielle turned to her sharply, eyes narrowing. “I bet Caleb was eager to get that dress?”
Elena nodded. “Yep. Sat across the room like some smug villain in a Bond movie. He even winked at me halfway through.”
“Seriously?” Brielle said, incredulous. “What is with these men tonight? Caleb flirts with you, Jaxon goes full alpha male in front of everyone... I mean, it’s entertaining as hell, but girl, your life is turning into a soap opera.”
Elena chuckled bitterly. “I wish it wasn’t. I just wanted to enjoy tonight, get through this Expo, maybe clear my head. But now I feel like I’m at the center of some twisted game I didn’t sign up for.”
Brielle reached out and squeezed her hand. “You’re not alone. And don’t forget, you’re not powerless in all of this. Whatever their reasons, whatever stupid egos are at play—you still get to choose what happens next.”
That settled over Elena like a calming breeze, if only for a moment. She looked over at her best friend, the warm light catching the shimmer in Brielle’s hair, and managed a smile.
“Thanks, Brie. Seriously.”
“Anytime,” Brielle said, then leaned closer with a teasing grin. “But if we’re being real, you have to admit—it was a little hot.”
Elena rolled her eyes. “You’re impossible.”
“No, just observant.”
They laughed together, the tension breaking just slightly, the sound wrapping around them like a protective bubble in the middle of the glittering chaos of the gala.
But even as they tried to relax, Elena couldn’t shake the feeling that the night wasn’t done with her yet. Somewhere across the room, Jaxon stood with the dress she wore in his hands, and Caleb—calculating, charming, and quietly dangerous—wasn’t far behind.
And for the first time in a long while, Elena wasn’t sure which man posed the bigger threat.
_________
The hallway was quiet, the plush carpet absorbing the soft click of Elena’s heels as she walked toward her suite. The glamour of the evening clung faintly to her in the form of shimmering fabric and leftover perfume, but the magic of the night had long worn off. Her head ached slightly—not from the champagne, but from the overload of emotions. The dress. Caleb. The tension. And Jaxon.
She was adjusting the strap of her clutch when she rounded the final corner—and stopped short.
Jaxon was there, standing just outside his suite directly opposite hers, his tie loosened and jacket already slung over one arm. He looked up, clearly surprised to see her. Their eyes locked.
An awkward silence stretched between them before Elena exhaled and took a step closer.
“Nice night?” she asked, voice calm but guarded.
Jaxon smirked faintly. “Could’ve been worse.”
She looked him over—his tired but sharp eyes, the way his posture was casual but his jaw was slightly clenched, like he was still carrying the weight of the evening.
“Why did you do it?” she asked quietly.
He blinked. “Do what?”
“The dress,” she said, folding her arms loosely across her chest. “Why did you buy it?”
Jaxon hesitated, then stepped toward his door, unlocking it. “Because I wanted to.”
“That’s not an answer,” she said sharply.
He stopped, turning to face her fully. “Fine. Because Caleb was bidding on it. And I wasn’t about to let him win.”
Elena frowned. “So it wasn’t even about me?”
Jaxon’s eyes flashed, and he looked away for a second before returning her gaze.
“You wore that dress, Elena,” he said, voice lower now, steadier. “And the way you looked in it? The way he looked at you in it? That wasn’t just about a dress. Not to him. And not to me.”
The words struck something inside her—unexpected and raw. But before she could find a reply, her mind caught up with another image from earlier that evening. One she hadn’t had the chance to confront.
She tilted her head slightly, eyes narrowing. “Speaking of attention… who was the woman you were arguing with earlier? Outside your suite?”
Jaxon’s expression shifted instantly—his jaw tightened, and something flickered in his eyes. He looked away for a brief second before meeting her gaze again.
“That’s none of your concern.”
“It is,” Elena countered, stepping forward now. “Because I overheard part of that conversation. And it sounded like someone who wasn’t ready to let go of you.”
Jaxon’s silence hung in the air like a wall between them.
“Just tell me,” she said, softer now. “I’m not asking for your past. I just don’t want to be blindsided by whatever drama she’s dragging around.”
Jaxon opened his mouth, but then closed it again, torn between irritation and reluctant honesty.
\---
Caleb’s Suite –
The sharp clink of glass echoed through the luxurious suite as Caleb poured himself a generous shot of whiskey. He didn’t bother with the crystal decanter’s cap—it rolled across the marble bar top and dropped to the floor with a faint thud, ignored.
The lights were dimmed, casting long shadows on the floor-to-ceiling windows that framed the city skyline. Below, Paris glittered like a jeweled blanket, but Caleb’s eyes weren’t interested in the view.
He was furious.
The moment the auctioneer slammed the gavel and announced Sold—to Jaxon Wentworth, something had snapped in him. The smug look on Jaxon’s face as he leaned back in his chair, the casual way he raised his glass—like he hadn’t just stolen the very moment Caleb was orchestrating for himself.
That dress wasn’t just fabric and lace. It was symbolic. Elena had walked in wearing it like she was born to be seen in power and elegance—and Caleb had planned to claim it. Not just the dress. The attention. The leverage. The statement.
Instead, Jaxon beat him to it. Again.
Caleb threw back the whiskey in one swallow, the burn down his throat a welcome distraction. He poured another, slower this time, then sat on the edge of the bed, his mind racing.
He had underestimated the connection between Elena and Jaxon. Or rather, he had misread it. At first, he thought it was a fragile marriage of obligation—a tidy arrangement, perhaps even something forced by family politics.
But Jaxon’s boldness tonight—bidding like that, staking his claim in public—it wasn’t something a man did for a woman he was indifferent about.
Still… that didn’t mean it was love.
No. If it were love, Jaxon wouldn’t have been arguing with a woman outside his suite earlier that evening. Caleb had seen her, the dark-haired woman in red storming down the hallway. He’d stored her image, filed it away. Leverage. Information. Always watch for cracks in the armor.
He stood and began to pace, shirt unbuttoned at the collar now, his expression stormy.
“I need another angle,” he muttered under his breath. “Another way in.”
He wasn’t about to lose to Jaxon—not again. Not after the London deal. Not after the San Diego pitch. And definitely not at this expo, where the eyes of Europe’s most powerful fashion conglomerates were watching.
He walked over to his desk, pulled open a leather-bound portfolio, and flipped through his company’s itinerary for the week. Meetings. Panels. Private showcases.
Then, he saw it—the VIP brunch, a gathering only a handful of names had been invited to. Elena’s name was on that list.
Caleb smirked.
You may have won the dress, Jaxon, he thought bitterly, but the game isn’t over.
He took a slow sip of his second glass and leaned back, plotting. If Elena was the key to rattling Jaxon, then so be it. Caleb didn’t need romance. He needed strategy. And if Elena was emotionally vulnerable—torn between public duty and private confusion—it was only a matter of time before she slipped.
And when she did… he’d be there to catch her.
Or push her—depending on what suited him best.
\---
Jaxon froze for a moment, then exhaled slowly, card still in hand. "You heard that?"
She didn’t say anything—just gave him that look. The kind that said you already know I did.
He slid the keycard through the door’s panel but didn’t open it. Instead, he leaned against the frame, turning slightly to face her.
"Her name is Maya," he said at last. "She’s… she was someone from my past. A mistake I made a long time ago. We were together years back—on and off, toxic and complicated."
Elena’s brow arched, but she said nothing.
He continued. "When news about the engagement came out, I guess she saw it as some sort of personal attack. She’s been calling, showing up—demanding explanations, wanting to rekindle whatever mess we had."
"So, she found her way here?" Elena asked, voice edged with disbelief.
Jaxon gave a dry laugh. “Apparently, yes. I didn’t invite her. Didn’t even know she was coming. She must have pulled strings, used old contacts… whatever it took to insert herself into this.”
There was a pause. A beat of silence. Then he met Elena’s eyes.
“But I sent her away. For good this time. I made it very clear: there’s nothing between us anymore, and there never will be again. Not after tonight. She won’t be bothering either of us again.”
Elena searched his face, trying to read what wasn’t being said. There was no nervous flicker in his eyes, no defensiveness in his tone. Just exhaustion. Maybe even regret.
She gave a slight nod. “Alright.”
It wasn’t complete trust—but it was something.
Jaxon held her gaze a moment longer before finally turning the knob and stepping into his suite. Before the door closed, he glanced back at her.
“Elena,” he said softly. “I know this arrangement between us isn’t… ideal. But I’m not dragging old ghosts into it. You won’t have to deal with Maya again. That’s a promise.”
And with that, the door shut.
\---
Elena’s Suite –
The soft click of Jaxon’s door echoed in Elena’s ears long after he’d stepped inside. She lingered a moment longer in the hallway, her hand on the doorknob of her own suite, mind whirling with fragments of the night.
Maya.
The name clung to her thoughts like an unwanted perfume—familiar, lingering, and stubborn to shake off.
She slipped inside her suite, the door whispering shut behind her. The silence was welcoming after the noise of the Gala, but it didn’t soothe her thoughts. Her heels were the first to go—tossed aside carelessly—then her jewelry, one piece after another, until she was curled on the edge of the bed, the city lights filtering softly through the curtains.
She stared out at the skyline, arms wrapped loosely around her knees. The whole night had been a whirlwind—Caleb’s charm, the tension of the auction, Jaxon’s unexpected bid, and now… Maya.
She didn’t know what stung more—the idea of another woman still chasing Jaxon, or the fact that the revelation had made something inside her tighten in a way she hadn’t expected.
It’s not supposed to matter, she reminded herself. This isn’t a real marriage. This is business. Strategy. A ticking clock counting down to freedom.
And yet… Jaxon’s words had sounded honest. His eyes hadn’t flinched. He didn’t owe her an explanation, but he gave her one anyway.
Why did that mean something?
She sighed, rubbing a hand over her face, willing the confusion to melt away. But it didn’t.
Maybe he was telling the truth. Maybe Maya really was in the past.
But in this twisted web of alliances, secrets, and staged affections… it was hard to know what was real.
Elena lay back on the bed, eyes tracing the delicate patterns in the ceiling. Tomorrow was the official start of the fashion expo, and the world would be watching. The roles they played would need to be flawless.
But as her thoughts drifted back to Jaxon—his voice, his expression, that flicker of something unspoken in his eyes—she realized with a quiet jolt…
Pretending might be harder than she thought.