The past

Oswal spent the night lying awake in his room. He didn’t know what else to do to get her forgiveness.

The next day he left for work even before she woke up. After spending the entire night thinking, he came up with a solution which might reduce the tense atmosphere around them. He called his assistant and gave him an order.

After Elina woke up, she noticed that Eric had already left for the day. Just when she finished her breakfast she received a call from his assistant. After she finished the call she changed and made her way to the Cooper tower.

Elina went straight to the archives of the Cooper’s as instructed to her. She opened the huge dorr in front of her and walked in. The Cooper Archives were cold—literally and metaphorically. Elina wrapped her arms around herself as she stepped into the dusty storage space nestled deep in the lower level of the Cooper Tower. She hadn’t expected the past to be stored in cardboard boxes, neatly labeled and abandoned like forgotten memories.

She took the view in front of her and groaned as she didn’t really like this place. It felt cold and forgotten but she had no choice as this was where Oswal had sent her.

“We need to approve what the media team can digitize,” his assistant had told her earlier on call that morning. “Mr. Cooper said you’d know what’s worth keeping.”

Oswal wanted her to sort through all these files and stuff. Was she too bored? A joke? Or a test?

Either way, Elina didn’t back down from either. She walked straight ahead.

She sank onto the floor and opened the first box, revealing crisp manila folders, yellowing photographs, and newspaper clippings from decades ago. The Cooper legacy, framed in ink and numbers. Among them, tucked like an afterthought, was a slim black leather binder with a cracked corner. The binder looked old and ragged. But what caught her attention was something else.

The binder bore her father’s initials.

Her breath hitched at the sight of it.

Curiosity warred with dread as she opened it—page after page of business correspondence between her father and Oswal’s. Buried near the back, a letter—handwritten, dated seven years ago.

Her pulse quickened.

She scanned it—and froze.

There was only one paragraph written on it but she recognized that handwriting. It was clearly her father’s handwriting.

"The boy’s distracted. She's interfering with the plan. Either you put him on that plane to Switzerland or I will pull the plug on the merger. He needs to understand she’s not worth risking the future of this family."

Her hands trembled as she closed the binder, heart hammering.

She’d always believed Oswal had left on his own.

But this—this letter proved that her father had played a role. Manipulated the situation. Controlled their fate.

And still… Oswal hadn’t said anything. He had let her believe he’d chosen to leave.

Was it guilt?

Or something else?

She placed the binder aside, carefully burying it under another pile. She wasn’t ready to deal with it yet. Not until she could look him in the eyes and not crumble.

Just when she was lost in her thoughts her phone buzzed.

She checked that it was a message from Oswal. The message carried only a single line in a crisp business like tone

Oswal: Dinner with the investors at 7. Wear something red.

Elina stared at the message.

No "please." No "would you." Just wear something red. As if they were still pretending they had rules for each other.

She typed: Red’s not my color.

Then deleted it.

Instead, she wrote: Noted.

If he wanted a wife who could play the part, she’d give him a performance he wouldn’t forget.

---

At six thirty Oswal stood in front of the penthouse mirror, adjusting the cuffs of his shirt with military precision. His reflection didn’t betray much—calm, stoic, detached. But the tightness in his jaw refused to leave.

He hadn’t meant to snap at her the night before.

But she had a way of digging beneath the polished version of himself he showed the world. And worse, she didn’t even know she still held that power.

His phone chimed. He pulled out his phone from his pocket and saw that it was just a single message from Elina.

He clicked on her chat that was pinned at the very top and froze

A picture.

Elina. In red.

His breath caught.

It wasn’t just a dress. It was a declaration. Sharp, elegant, unapologetically stunning. The neckline teased danger. Her expression was steel.

He stared longer than he should have.

His reply was simple: Perfect. Meet you at the gate in 10 minutes

But it wasn’t enough.

Nothing ever felt like enough when it came to her.

He made his way to the gate and waited for Elina to come downstairs.

As soon as he heard the soft click of her heels he looked towards her. She was just as stunning as seven years ago.

He composed himself and walked over to her in a gentlemanly way and led her towards the car.

He held open the car door for her and protected her head from the door as she got in. After which he closed the door for her and made his way to the other side before instructing the driver to start the car.

---

Dinner was a blur of small talk, strategic laughter, and flowing champagne. Elina navigated the conversation with grace, a political smile etched into her features. But she could feel Oswal’s gaze on her the entire time—like he was watching for cracks in her armor.

Or searching for something he’d long since buried.

“So, Elina,” one of the investors asked, leaning in, “how does it feel being married to the most eligible bachelor in the country?”

She didn’t miss a beat. “Exhausting.”

Laughter erupted around the table.

Oswal smirked. “She says that now. Wait until she meets my board.”

Elina tilted her head. “They’ll probably like me more.”

He raised his glass. “Not a doubt in my mind.”

Their eyes locked.

And for a moment, everything else disappeared.

The clinking glasses. The conversation. The lies.

It was just them.

Still pretending.