Prologue
The manila file sat on Norah Draven's desk like a time bomb, thick with reports, signatures, and neatly clipped photographs. She eyed it with practiced disinterest, sipping the last of her black coffee.
Her boss, Mr. Hugh Jerau, leaned forward, watching her reaction with a careful gaze. "This is your next case."
Norah barely spared the folder a glance. "I don't work with model baboons." Her voice was smooth, detached, the kind that could freeze a man mid-sentence.
Jerau sighed, rubbing his temple. "Draven, this isn't just any case. This man is powerful. Very powerful. Taking this case will be good for the company, and for you. Your name will be even bigger than it already is."
She crossed her legs, uninterested. "Give it to Alex."
Her boss huffed out a laughh. "Oh, come on. You and I both know you're better than Alex. You're better than all your colleagues. You're the one who can handle a man like Jacob Everson, chairman of D.A Moda."
Norah's lips pursed at the name. Everson. It sounded vaguely familiar, but not enough to stir any emotions.
"Fine," she said at last, reaching for the file. "Just this once."
Jerau looked relieved. "I knew you'd come through."
She ignored him, flipping open the folder. The first thing that greeted her was a photograph, dark brown hair, piercing blue eyes, a chiseled jaw that spoke of arrogance and confidence. She studied the image for a moment before shutting the file. A job is a job.
Tomorrow, she would be on a flight back to Eldoria, the country that once destroyed her.
...
Norah's Home.
Norah's house was a quiet sanctuary, a world away from the chaos of her profession. It wasn't extravagant, but it was beautiful, sophisticated, a place of warmth she had built for herself and her daughter. The exterior was draped in lush ivy, the front garden carefully cultivated with wild roses and lavender. Inside, deep mahogany floors stretched beneath soft Persian rugs, and golden pendant lights cast a rich glow over minimalist but elegant furniture.
As she stepped inside, the scent of freshly baked cookies wrapped around her, and a delighted squeal filled the air.
"Mommy!"
A ten-year-old girl with wide, intelligent eyes and a mass of soft golden curls came bounding toward her. Norah caught her effortlessly, pressing a kiss to her forehead.
"My love," she murmured, inhaling the familiar warmth of her daughter.
Eloá grinned up at her, her little arms tight around her mother's neck. "Guess what?"
Norah smirked. "You got another A?"
"Yes! In math and history!"
Pride flickered in Norah's chest. "That's my girl."
They spent the evening together in the kitchen, the smell of garlic and butter filling the space as they prepared dinner. Eloá chattered excitedly about school while Norah chopped vegetables, occasionally stealing glances at her daughter's glowing face. Afterward, they curled up on the couch, watching Eloá's favorite movie.
As the night wore on, Norah pulled her daughter close.
"Honey, I need to talk to you about something," she said softly.
Eloá blinked up at her. "What is it?"
"I have to go to Eldoria for a little while. It's for work."
Her daughter's expression turned thoughtful. "For how long?"
"A few weeks, maybe less."
Eloá bit her lip but nodded. "Okay. I'll stay with Aunt Alana?"
"Yes." Norah tucked a curl behind her daughter's ear. "Are you okay with that?"
"I'll miss you."
Norah's heart squeezed. "I'll miss you more. But I'll call every day. And when I get back, we'll go on that weekend trip you wanted, okay?"
Eloá smiled, satisfied. "Promise?"
"Promise."
...
Three Days Later.
Norah stood in the courtyard, dressed in a sleek black travel ensemble, her suitcase beside her. Alana, her twenty-year-old sister, rolled her eyes dramatically.
"Don't do anything stupid until I return," Norah teased.
Alana smirked. "How can I? You're taking all the silliness with you."
Norah turned to Eloá, crouching to her level. "Baby girl, be good for your aunt, okay?"
"I will."
"I love you."
"I love you more."
"I love you most."
Alana groaned. "Ugh, you two are so extra."
Norah chuckled, kissing her daughter one last time before stepping into the waiting car. As it pulled away, she let out a slow breath. Eldoria. The place where everything fell apart.
She wasn't that naive girl anymore. She would return not as a victim, but as Norah Draven, the woman who never lost.
...
The flight was smooth, the transition effortless. When she landed, she took a taxi straight toward Everson Villa.
The driver glanced at her through the rearview mirror. "Madam, taxis can't go to that estate. It's expensive."
Norah arched a brow. "Then drop me by the lake."
The driver hesitated before nodding. "Alright, miss."
As she stepped out onto the familiar Eldorian soil, a chill crept up her spine. The air smelled the same, like rain and old memories. She inhaled deeply, pushing down the ghosts of the past.
Walking up the long drive to the Everson estate, she immediately noticed something was off.
Silence.
No security. No guards. The luxury cars were gone.
Her grip on her purse tightened.
Then.
A groan.
Deep. Pained.
Her heart lurched as she turned toward the mansion's entrance. She hesitated only for a moment before pushing through the doors.
Inside, the grand space was eerily empty, save for the faint sound of labored breathing. And then she saw him.
Jacob Everson.
Sprawled shirtless on the floor, wounds streaking his skin, darkened bruises marring his torso. His once-imposing frame was weakened, his breaths shallow.
Norah froze.
For a second, just a second, the past came rushing back. The sixteen-year-old girl who had once loved him. The betrayal. The humiliation.
But she wasn't that girl anymore.
He stirred, blinking up at her. And then—
"Norah?" His voice was hoarse, filled with disbelief.
She felt her stomach twist. She hadn't opened the file before arriving. She hadn't known.
Jacob Everson.
Jacob Elordi.
Her first love. The man who had destroyed her.
"Mr. Everson?" Her voice was carefully controlled, but inside, her mind reeled. He changed his name.
Jacob's gaze roamed over her, lingering on the regal black suit hugging her frame, the long golden curls now styled in an elegant bun. She wasn't the girl he had abandoned.
She was something more.
His lips parted, but before he could speak, she stepped forward, kneeling beside him. Her fingers ghosted over his wounds. He shuddered under her touch.
"Severe cuts…" she murmured, professional despite the storm raging inside her. "Who did this to you, Jac—President?"
His jaw tensed. "Neila."
Norah's lips curled in disdain. "Right. Where's your phone? I need to call your wife."
Jacob reached up, gripping her wrist, pulling her closer.
"She did this." His voice was urgent. "We have to get out of here."
Norah pulled free, standing abruptly. "I see, wait here Sir." She grabbed a first-aid kit. "But after this, you have a lot of explaining to do, Mr. Everson."
She wasn't here for old wounds. But somehow, she had walked right back into them.
And this time?
She was the one holding the knife.