Chapter 2 The palms
The morning sun spilled through the sheer white curtains of Elena’s bedroom, casting a soft glow on the ivory walls and golden accents. Everything about her room screamed elegance—too perfect, too still—like a dollhouse frozen in time.
She lay back on her bed, phone clutched in her hand, staring at the ceiling. The memory of last night kept swirling through her head—her father’s voice, her mother’s silence, the weight of a future she didn’t ask for.
She sat up suddenly and opened her messages.
Elena: “Are you free this morning? I need to see you.”
A minute passed before Brielle replied.
Brielle: “Yeah, babe. What’s up? Where?”
Elena: “Same place. I’ll text you when I’m on the way.”
That “same place” needed no explanation. It was The Palms—a cozy, upscale café-restaurant tucked in a quiet corner of the city. Not too loud, not too fancy. Just theirs. It had been their meet-up spot since their last year of high school, the place where secrets were spilled over iced coffees and shared desserts.
She dropped her phone on the nightstand and sighed. She couldn’t meet Brielle looking like she’d barely survived a hurricane of emotions. So, she got to her feet and walked toward the bathroom.
Steam curled from the edges of the shower door as hot water rushed down. She stepped under it, letting the warmth run over her skin and soak into her hair. It was the only thing that felt calm, like a soft moment in a storm she didn’t ask for.
She took her time, washing slowly, letting the water drown out her thoughts. Then she wrapped herself in a towel and stepped back into her room.
Laid out on the bed was her champagne-colored dress—fitted at the waist, soft off-shoulder sleeves, smooth fabric that shimmered faintly under the light. She stepped into it carefully. She wasn’t dressing up for anyone in particular—but somehow, she needed to feel put together.
At her vanity, she opened her makeup kit and began with a light foundation. Concealer under her eyes. A sweep of blush, just enough to add life to her cheeks. Warm tones on her eyelids—shades of bronze and soft brown. Long lashes brushed with mascara. A glossy pink on her lips.
She looked beautiful. But she didn’t feel beautiful. She felt like someone putting on armor.
Her hair, still damp, was blow-dried and curled softly into waves. She styled the top in a gentle half-up twist, pinning a few strands back with gold clips.
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She looked into the mirror one last time before grabbing her phone and bag.
Elena: “On my way.”
She stepped out of her room and padded down the grand staircase, her heels clicking softly against the polished marble. The house was quiet—too quiet. When she reached the bottom, she noticed it immediately: her parents were gone.
There was a note on the console table by the stairs, scribbled in her mother’s elegant handwriting.
“We had to leave early. Your breakfast is on the dining table. We’ll talk later. Love, Mom.”
Elena stared at the note for a second, lips pressing into a thin line. “Talk later,” she muttered under her breath. As if last night hadn’t been enough already.
She walked into the dining room and found the long table half set, one spot prepared for her—scrambled eggs, toast, a little bowl of fruit, and freshly squeezed orange juice.
Her stomach twisted at the sight. She hadn’t even realized how hungry she was until now.
Sinking into the chair, she ate slowly, quietly, replaying the words from last night. Her father’s tone. Her mother’s silence. The name Jaxon Wentworth hanging like a heavy shadow over everything.
She took a final sip of juice and stood. No point sitting in the silence any longer.
She grabbed her bag again and walked toward the door.
Time to see Brielle.
\---
At palms
The Palms Café buzzed softly with the usual mid-morning crowd—quiet chatter, the hum of espresso machines, and the scent of cinnamon pastries and roasted coffee in the air. Elena pushed through the glass doors, scanning the familiar space until she spotted Brielle in their usual corner booth by the window.
Brielle was already sipping on her iced latte, oversized sunglasses perched on her head like a crown, her phone resting in one hand.
“Girl,” she said with a grin as Elena approached, “you look like you just stepped out of a Vogue cover shoot.”
Elena gave a small smile as she slid into the seat across from her. “Thanks.”
But Brielle tilted her head. “Wait. What’s with the face? You’re not even excited to see me. What’s going on?”
Elena hesitated, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear. “It’s nothing. I just didn’t sleep well.”
“Mhm.” Brielle raised a brow. “Try again. I know that face. That’s your ‘I have something huge to say but I’m still mentally processing it’ face. Spill. Now.”
Elena sighed and looked down at her untouched drink. “It’s... about last night. My dad dropped something on me. Big.”
“Okay,” Brielle leaned in, lips pursed. “Define ‘big.’ We talking ‘you’re adopted’ big or ‘pack your bags we’re moving to Spain’ big?”
“He... he arranged a marriage for me.”
There was a pause. Then Brielle blinked, slow and confused. “Come again?”
“I’m supposed to marry someone. A business alliance thing. To save the company.”
Brielle’s jaw dropped slightly. “No way. Are you serious? Who is this guy?”
Elena looked away for a second before answering. “Some guy named... Jaxon Wentworth.”
The silence that followed was loud.
Brielle blinked again. “Wait—hang on. The Jaxon Wentworth?”
Elena raised an eyebrow. “I guess? I don’t know him.”
Brielle sat back like she’d just been hit with something. “Oh my God. You don’t know him?”
“No. I’ve never met him. Why?”
“Elena,” she said slowly, “you’re about to marry one of the youngest billionaires in the country. Jaxon Wentworth—CEO of Wentworth Enterprises, tech giant, investor, Forbes cover model—ring any bells?”
Elena stared at her. “You’re joking.”
Brielle was already pulling out her phone. “Girl, I’m not. Let me show you.”
—
Brielle sat back, phone in hand, ready to show Elena the photos and articles. “Elena, you have to see this—”
Elena held up a hand. “No. I don’t want to see his picture.”
Brielle blinked, surprised. “Wait, what? You don’t want to know what he looks like?”
“I don’t care.” Elena’s voice was steady, even cold. “I don’t care if he’s a billionaire or the richest man in the world. I’m not marrying someone I’ve never loved or even dated.”
Brielle frowned, then nodded slowly. “Okay... but you do know, most girls would kill for this kind of offer.”
Elena’s eyes darkened. “Maybe. But that guy is known to be... ruthless. Mean. And money won’t change who he is. I don’t want to be another name on his list or a business transaction.”
She pushed back her chair slightly. “I’ll figure out how to deal with it, but marrying him? No way.”
Brielle watched her for a moment, admiration shining through. “Alright. Whatever you decide, I’m here.”
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Brielle smirked and nudged Elena’s arm. “Okay, so you’re saying you won’t marry Mr. Billionaire. But what if—just what if—he turns out to be secretly sweet? Like, you know, a billionaire with a heart of gold and a weird obsession with puppies?”
Elena rolled her eyes. “Yeah, right. More like a billionaire with a heart of stone and a yacht full of angry lawyers.”
Brielle laughed. “True. But hey, if you do end up married to him, at least you’ll never have to worry about rent again. You could live in a castle, have a personal chef, and... I don’t know, swim in a pool of money like Scrooge McDuck.”
Elena snorted. “Swimming in money sounds fun until you realize you’re just a fish stuck in a giant glass box.”
Brielle grinned. “Fish or not, you better start practicing your royal wave.”
Elena shook her head, smiling despite herself. “If I have to marry a billionaire, I’m at least gonna make them laugh first.”
Just as Brielle was about to crack another joke about billionaire life, her phone buzzed sharply against the table. She glanced at the screen, eyes widening.
“Ah, shoot. That’s my boss. They need me at work. Sorry, El, I gotta run.”
Elena nodded, a small smile playing on her lips. “No worries. Work calls.”
Brielle quickly gathered her things, standing up. “Text me later, okay? We’ll figure this whole billionaire situation out together.”
“Will do,” Elena said, reaching into her purse for her wallet.
She paid the bill and stood, sliding her chair back quietly. The café still hummed softly around her as she headed for the door, her mind swirling with everything Brielle had just said.
Just as she pushed the glass door open, she collided sharply with someone.
Elena barely had time to steady herself after bumping into the man.
“Oh! Sorry,” she said quickly, confused by his sharp glare.
The man frowned. “Watch where you’re going.”
Elena blinked, surprised. Why so rude? I said sorry.
“I didn’t mean to,” she added, a little annoyed. “You didn’t have to be so harsh.”
He opened his mouth to respond, but before he could say anything, a sharp voice cut in.
“Sir, the client is waiting in the VIP guest house.”
The man’s expression shifted instantly. Without another word, he glanced at his watch and strode away briskly, leaving Elena standing there, still holding her breath.
Elena watched him disappear, still a bit stunned by how rude he was. Some people really have no chill, she thought with a small shake of her head.