The Heiress He Couldn’t Lose

Elara’s POV

Nine a.m. The BR product launch.

The countdown on the massive screen at center stage had reached its final ten seconds.

Standing beside the display platform, I glanced at my watch and pressed my earpiece more firmly into place.

Eight months.

From the board rejecting the first proposal, to a sudden supply-chain shortage, to a rival brand launching a similar product three weeks ahead of us—I had dragged this project across the finish line after stumbling into nearly every pitfall imaginable.

In three months, the Richter Group would choose its next heir.

The sales figures, publicity, and market response from today’s launch were the strongest cards in my hand.

I could lose because of the product. I could lose because of the market. But I would not lose because of a scandal someone had deliberately manufactured.

My gaze swept across the audience. Reporters, distributors, investors—everyone was here.

Everyone except Austin Thorne, whose reserved seat in the center of the front row remained empty.

I had sent him the time and address last night. I had typed, Can you come? at the end, then deleted it. In the end, I had sent only one sentence.

I saved you a seat.

He had never replied, but I had not let anyone remove his nameplate.

“Elara, get ready,” Molly said through my earpiece.

I looked away and tightened my grip on the clicker.

The countdown reached zero. The lights went out, and a single beam of cold white light fell over me.

I walked onto the stage.

“Welcome to BR’s annual product launch.”

Someone in the front row suddenly stood.

“Ms. Elara, do you have any response to the news about Mr. Austin that began trending this morning?”

The room fell silent for a moment.

Instead of looking at the reporter, I glanced toward Molly in the wings.

Her face had gone pale. One hand was pressed over her phone as she gave me the slightest shake of her head.

This was not one of the questions we had arranged. That told me enough.

The female reporter pressed on. “Mr. Austin was photographed entering a hotel last night with a young woman, and neither of them left until morning. Were you aware that your husband was having an affair?”

The room erupted. Camera flashes went off one after another.

My chest tightened.

Before going to sleep last night, I had checked my phone one last time, wondering if he had simply been too busy to reply.

But this was no time to think about that.

Of all days, it had to be today—and in the first minute of the launch.

Whoever had done this did not merely want to make a spectacle of my marriage. They wanted to steal every headline BR should have received today.

I raised a hand, signaling the host not to intervene.

“Would you repeat your name and the media outlet you represent?”

The reporter froze briefly, then gave both.

I nodded. “Good. Molly, write that down.”

The room went quiet again.

The reporter frowned. “Are you threatening the press?”

“No.” I smiled. “I simply make a point of recording the source of any statement for which someone may later be held responsible.”

Her expression shifted.

“As for my marriage—if the photographs are genuine, I will deal with my husband. If the story is false, I will deal with whoever spread the lie.”

Someone in the audience drew a sharp breath.

“But either way, an entertainment headline does not get to decide whether BR’s new product is worth buying.”

I turned and gestured toward the screen behind me.

“You all took the time to come here today to see a product. If what you want is my divorce settlement, wait until I actually sign one. Then perhaps I’ll consider giving you an exclusive.”

A few people failed to suppress their laughter. The atmosphere, moments away from spiraling out of control, was forcibly pulled back into line.

I gave no one a chance to ask another question.

“Now, let us continue.”

Forty minutes later, the final set of product figures was announced. Online preorders had reached one hundred and thirty-seven percent of our target.

Only after stepping off the stage did I notice the cold sweat coating my palms.

Molly hurried over and handed me her phone.

“The photographs are everywhere.”

I took it from her.

In a hotel corridor, Austin had one arm wrapped around the waist of a blonde woman. The angle was excellent, the lighting perfect. Even the brand of his watch could be seen clearly.

I stared at the hand resting on her waist and enlarged the image without realizing it.

His wedding ring was still there.

I would rather not have seen that detail so clearly.

“It’s too clear.”

Molly blinked. “What is?”

“Thorne’s people would never let paparazzi get close enough to take this.”

I examined the photograph again.

Perhaps it was a trick of perspective. Perhaps there was more to the story. The thought came so quickly that even I found it humiliating.

Yet Austin’s face was turned slightly to the side, as if he had deliberately given the camera an angle from which he could be identified.

I saved the photograph.

If he had released it himself, I wanted to hear him admit it to my face.

“Find the first outlet that published the story, trace the source of the photographs, and find out who slipped that reporter into the event at the last minute.” I handed the phone back to Molly. “And keep pushing all the launch figures as planned. I don’t want every press release revolving around Austin.”

Molly studied me cautiously. “Then where are you going?”

I picked up my coat.

“Amman Apartments.”

“To question him?”

“No.”

I fastened the last button and looked at my reflection in the glass door.

“I’m going to settle the account.”

The doorbell at Amman Apartments rang twice.

When Austin opened the door, he was wearing a casual shirt with the collar undone, as if he had just gotten out of bed. He showed no surprise at seeing me.

“Twelve minutes faster than I expected.”

“You knew I would come?”

I had arrived with a hundred things to say. But the moment I saw his face, I looked past him first.

There was no one else in sight. The tension that had held my shoulders rigid all the way here eased slightly before I could stop it.

“You saw the news?” he asked.

“I did.” I walked inside, my voice lower than it had been at the launch. “Austin, I want an explanation.”

A woman’s soft voice came from the bedroom.

“Darling, who is it?”

A moment later, a blonde woman emerged wrapped in a bath towel.

Luna.

The woman from the photograph.

Instead of retreating when she saw me, she smiled and looped her arm through Austin’s.

“Oh, it’s Elara. Would you like some coffee? Austin knows I prefer Brazilian beans, so he had some flown in especially.”

I glanced at the coffee table.

The machine sitting there was the one I had thrown into storage two years ago because I thought it took up too much space.

Suddenly, I smiled.

“If you like it, take it with you.”

Luna’s smile stiffened.

“What?”

“The beans, the coffee machine, and the towel you’re wearing.” I looked directly at her. “This apartment was gifted to me under a premarital agreement. I am the legal owner. I don’t want anything you’ve used today.”

Her face went pale, and she instinctively turned to Austin.

Leaning against the doorframe, Austin actually laughed.

“Elara.”

At the sound of my name, I almost turned toward him. But Luna moved closer to him first, as if waiting for him to come to her defense.

I took out my phone and called the property manager.

“Come up in ten minutes and change the locks. From now on, no one who is not an owner may stay here without my authorization.”

Luna finally lost control of her expression. “What gives you the right—”

“The deed.”

I ended the call and looked at her.

“If you need another reason, my lawyer can explain what it means to occupy private property unlawfully.”

She had no answer to that.

Only then did Austin speak. “You’re throwing someone out right in front of me?”

I turned to him. “Do you want her to stay?”

I had not hesitated once while speaking to Luna. But after asking him, I waited.

If he said it was not what it looked like, I could still swallow the harsher words waiting on my tongue.

He did not answer immediately.

“Then take her with you.” I placed my car keys on the table. “Just don’t stay here.”

I had chosen those cups too. I did not want to tell him in front of Luna that I still remembered things like that.

Austin’s gaze moved from the keys to my face. The casual amusement in his eyes faded.

“Go get dressed,” he told Luna.

She bit her lip and walked away.

Before leaving, she looked back at me, still unwilling to give up.

I smiled at her.

“Have a safe trip. Don’t forget the coffee beans.”

The door closed, leaving Austin and me alone in the living room.

He reached for a bottle of liquor, but I spoke first.

“Were you with her last night?”

His hand stopped. He looked at me.

“You’ve already seen the photographs.”

“Photographs are one thing.” I tightened my grip on my phone. “I want to hear it from you.”

Austin studied me for several seconds before setting the bottle down again.

“I didn’t sleep with her.”

My hand loosened around the strap of my bag.

The small flicker of relief showed before I had time to hide it, and his gaze immediately dropped to my hand. I avoided his eyes and pulled up the photographs.

“Then why do these exist? And why was she here?”

“Do you really care that much about her?”

I looked up.

He was standing very close to me, his voice quieter now, as though he genuinely wanted to know.

“I do.”

Something changed in his eyes. For an instant, I thought he might reach for me.

Instead, he looked down at my phone.

“Because she embarrassed you at your product launch?”

The fragile hope that had begun to surface inside me abruptly stopped.

I did not answer at once. He had already smiled and stepped back toward the coffee table.

“Relax. Your launch wasn’t ruined.”

“So you watched the livestream?”

“Preorders were good.”

I hated that those three words could still warm my chest.

He remembered the figures. Perhaps he had even seen me standing onstage.

But his gaze returned to the photograph, as if we were discussing nothing more than a public relations report.

I turned the screen toward him.

“Your people couldn’t possibly have missed a camera at this distance. Do you know why the story came out today of all days?”

“You think I did it?”

“I hope you didn’t.”

His smile vanished.

I looked at him but left the rest unsaid.

So deny it. Just say you didn’t.

At that moment, my phone rang.

My father’s name appeared on the screen.

Still looking at Austin, I answered. Only one sentence came through, delivered in a voice taut with anger.

“Bring Austin back to the Lipton estate immediately.”

I lowered my gaze.

“Understood.”

After ending the call, I did not immediately relay my father’s order. The question I had asked still hung between us, but Austin was already looking at my call history.

“He wants us to go back,” I said. “Together.”