Rebirth: Love me Again

[ESTELLE]

"I have to go, Estelle," he said, his voice low. "Let's talk about this later."

"O-okay . . . I'll wait for you at the apartment then? If you're too busy here."

He didn't answer. Just turned his back on me and walked toward Eve.

I watched them go, his hand resting protectively on her shoulder, his entire attention swallowed by her presence.

And then it hit me.

His favorite wasn't me anymore.

It wasn't even Kelsey.

It was Eve.

If I wanted my happily ever after with Damien, I needed to act fast. And if that meant getting close to Eve again? Then so be it. Even if I had to betray Cole. Especially if I had to betray Cole. Because let's be honest, it was probably his fault anyway for messing things up.

I was this close to hearing wedding bells—and that idiot just destroyed everything I had work for months! Ugh, wait until I get back to New York. Cole is definitely going to feel my wrath. He has no idea what's coming for him.

There was no way I was going to let that idiot cousin of mine ruin my relationship with my soulmate. Not now. Not when I was this close to the finish line.

I took another sip of champagne and straightened my spine.

All hope wasn't lost—far from it.

Sure, things weren't looking great right now. Damien had suddenly turned cold, and his attention was completely glued to his long-lost sister like he was auditioning for the role of overprotective big brother of the year.

But I wasn't going to panic. Not yet. Because if there was one thing I was sure of, it was that I knew exactly who to cozy up to in order to win Damien back.

And besides, come on. He had to miss me.

Maybe not emotionally right this second—he was clearly in shock with the whole "Frizkiel royalty long-lost sister reunion" drama unfolding like a soap opera—but eventually? He'd remember me. And not just for my sparkling personality or my charming laugh. No, no. He'd remember the nights. The passion. The sheer talent I had—okay, maybe not talent, per se, but the effort. I was a great student. Top of my class, really. With Damien leading, I had become . . . well, competent in bed. And isn't that what counts?

He couldn't just forget that, right?

Anyway, strategy. I was already forming my game plan. If being sweet and supportive and emotionally available wasn't cutting it, I had to get creative. I'd make friends with the right people. Or more specifically, the right person.

Evangeline Cole Frizkiel.

Or as I used to call her—Eve Rosette. My dear cousin's ex-girlfriend turned royalty, now apparently the key to everything. If I could win over her, if I could get on her good side, then I'd have my way back into Damien's heart. Sister-in-law bonding, here I come.

Was it shameless to plan my future wedding by infiltrating the royal inner circle through a woman who looked like she wanted to strangle me the last time we spoke?

Maybe.

But desperate times called for mildly stalker-ish measures.

I was prepared. I would sit beside her at brunch, laugh at her jokes even if I didn't get them, compliment her gowns, ask about her skincare routine, maybe even pretend I loved babies if that's what it took. I would become the best fake best friend a girl like Eve could ever ask for.

Even if I had to pretend I liked herbal tea.

Even if I had to wear beige.

Even if I had to gasp apologize to her for whatever weird passive-aggressive things I may or may not have said during our last encounter.

I would do it. All of it.

Because Damien? Damien was worth it. The man looked like he stepped out of a drama poster, and he liked me—at least once. And I was going to remind him of that every chance I got until he proposed to me in a castle surrounded by roses, violin music, and confetti. Or at least in the apartment living room with pizza and a "sorry I was distant" hug. I wasn't picky.

Let the war for my future begin. Because I may not be a Frizkiel by blood—but I could still become one by marriage.

And if I had to sweet-talk, scheme, or outright buy the world to make that happen?

So be it.

Game on.

=== 🤍 ===

Days had passed.

No, scratch that—weeks. And my mission to reclaim Damien's attention? A complete and utter failure.

I hadn't exactly been on the right track. First off, Eve was impossible to approach. I had tried. Believe me, I did. I'd loitered around her tea parties, offered to hold her ridiculously tiny clutch bags, even complimented her pearl-encrusted shoes that looked like they belonged in a museum, not on a human foot.

But she was so guarded—like "Secret Service meets Victorian nun" kind of guarded. She had protective brothers, a thick aura of "don't mess with me," and this cool expression that made me question my entire existence.

Even I was intimidated—and I once stole a crocodile bag from a woman named Helga during Fashion Week because she pissed me off. I paid for it later though because it didn't want to go to jail so the jokes was on me.

Then there was Damien.

A complete no-show.

Not even a ghost of him. No texts, no surprise calls, not even a casual "you up?" message at 3 AM, which, let's be honest, I would've gladly taken at that point.

And okay, I got it. He was busy reuniting with his long-lost sister—emotional stuff, deep family healing, whatever. But a month of radio silence?

Was I . . . dead to him now?

Well, I still had the key to his apartment. That counted for something, right?

Right?

I mean, he hadn't kicked me out. That had to be a good sign. Except . . . he also hadn't been there. Not once. Just me, his enormous penthouse, and his robotic espresso machine that hated me.

I was starting to feel like a glorified house-sitter. Like one of those suspiciously underpaid assistants in K-dramas who "accidentally" fall in love with their boss but end up cleaning a lot of floors.

Yep. That's my life right now.