Chapter 8: All for love

Eloise crossed the road, heading to the restaurant across from the hospital. After spending hours with her grandfather, her stomach rumbled, demanding attention. A month had passed since her marriage, and just days after she'd handed the reins of her company over to Mason.

She slapped her forehead as she entered the restaurant. "What the hell was I even thinking?"

She ordered a burger, fries, and a soda, then found a quiet spot at the corner, her back to the entrance. She bit into her food, but her mind was elsewhere. What had she done?

Two days ago, she'd transferred her shares to Mason, handing him control of everything she'd built.

What the hell was I thinking? Her stomach churned at the thought. The decision felt so impulsive now. So stupid.

But then her mind wandered back to Mason—how much she'd loved him, how she'd let herself feel vulnerable for the first time. It wasn’t just about business; it was about wanting to let go, to trust someone else. But then she remembered the cafeteria incident.

She’d overheard the gossip from the employees.

"Did she really love him?" one had laughed. "She’s a CEO. He’s just some MD. She doesn’t lower herself for anyone."

The mocking voices still echoed in her head. Had Mason heard it? Did he believe it?

Their relationship had faltered because of it. His insecurities had driven a wedge between them, pushing her to the brink.

There was the fight.

Mason had messed up his presentation that day. Eloise, as always, had pointed it out—professionally. But to him, it was an attack on his pride.

"Couldn’t you have done that differently?" he had snapped later. "You embarrassed me."

"I didn’t mean to," she had said. "I was just doing my job."

He’d looked at her, his eyes cold. "You make it feel like I’m just along for the ride in your world. Just some guy you're trying to control."

Her heart had sunk. "That’s not true. I love you, Mason."

"Then prove it," he had challenged, his voice sharp. "Let go. Trust me. Have you thought about us outside of work? About what we’d sacrifice?"

She had been silent, the weight of his words sinking in.

Mason had continued, "If we got married tomorrow, who would step back? Who would sacrifice?"

She had known the truth. Silence had said everything.

"I could," she had whispered, the words tasting like regret. "If that’s what it takes. Take the company. Run it. Let the world see you at the helm."

He’d stared at her, stunned. "You’d really do that?"

"For us," she had said.

The memory hit her like a wave. How could she have been so blind? Why did I do that?

"Your lip is bleeding."

Eloise looked up, startled. Antonio Brayden. Her business rival, sitting alone at a table across from her, his cold gray eyes fixed on her.

She swallowed the bite of a burger in her mouth.

“What are you doing here?” she asked,

“Is this someplace I can't be?”

“It's so unusual to see a figure like yours in an open pace,”

“I just needed a place to think,” he exhaled, “which was successful until someone ruined it.”

In her former life, Eloise hadn't seen Antonio after she got married until now, when she was back in time.

In the ruthless world of industrial empires, Stratmore Holdings and Penafort Group are the two titanic forces constantly at war for market supremacy.

Stratmore Group runs the glitzy side of construction—luxury high-rises, downtown revamps, the kind of projects that end up on magazine covers. CEO Antonio Brayden? Smooth, ruthless, and obsessed with turning trash into treasure. His playbook? Elite money, flashy partnerships, and total market control.

Penafort? Different beast. They build the guts of cities—ports, highways, power plants. CEO Eloise Stewart is a street-smart contract queen, ex-supply chain, no-nonsense. Her company’s got union ties, grit, and a rep for winning ugly.

And these two? They hate each other. If Stratmore lands a downtown jewel, Penafort steals a highway deal. If Penafort scores a billion-dollar gov contract, Stratmore buys their concrete supplier. It’s not business—it’s a blood feud.

She returned the glare she was getting from him.

“Me? How did I ruin it?”

“Constant loud grunting and groaning, beating yourself up? Let me guess, for handing over your company to your husband.”

Eloise's eyes skipped and her eyes widened, “ how did you know that?.”

He scoffed, looking away, “You were never that smart and quite predictable.”

Eloise eyed him angrily.

Was she really that predictable?

*****

At the far corner of the restaurant, Antonio leaned back in his chair, a crystal tumbler of whiskey balanced between his fingers. He’d been enjoying the rare quiet, letting his mind wander. Women came and went through the entrance—laughing, clinging to men, adjusting dresses too tight for comfort. Pretty faces, empty eyes. All the same.

For his grandmother’s sake, he would have to marry one day. But the thought of ending up with a painted smile and ambition disguised as affection made his stomach turn.

Then Eloise Stewart had walked in.

No glitter. No coy smile. Just puffy eyes and a stiffness in her posture that told him she’d been crying but refused to collapse. Even in jeans and a plain top, she carried herself like she owned the air around her. And yet—there was something cracked at the edges.

He’d thought her predictable. A fighter who’d just lost her battlefield. But watching her sit there, stabbing at her food, muttering under her breath, he wondered what kind of war she might start next.

He swirled the whiskey, then called out to her. “Why don’t you join me? You need someone to knock some sense into you before you drown in self-pity.”

To his surprise, she didn’t snap back. She stood, walked over, and pulled out the chair opposite him. The scrape of wood against tile made him smile—just a little.

“What did he do?” he asked.

She blinked. “Huh?”

“You gave him your company. Now you’re here looking like hell. He betrayed you, didn’t he?”

Her eyes narrowed. “How would you know that?”

“Because I can read a battlefield,” he said evenly. “And your eyes? They’re waving a white flag.”

She exhaled sharply, leaning back. “No wonder you’re Antonio.”

“So, what did he do?”

“I’m not here to narrate my marriage to a rival,” she said.

“Maybe you should,” he replied, his gaze never wavering. “I hate men who cheat. Why get married if you want to screw around?”

Something flickered in her eyes. Then she said it. “He plotted with my best friend to take everything I owned.” Her voice was tight, her hands clenched in her lap. “And I let it happen.”

“You didn’t know,” Antonio said.

“I should have. I was warned not to marry him.”

“So what now? You going to sit here all night regretting it?”

Her silence was sharp enough to cut through the air.

“Marry me,” he said.

Her head snapped up. “What did you just say?”

“I want you to marry me.”

A dry laugh escaped her lips. “Didn’t think the cold CEO dabbled in jokes.”

“I’m not joking.”

Her laughter faded, replaced by suspicion.

“You need leverage,” Antonio said. “Support. A way back into the game. I can give you that.”

She narrowed her eyes. “So I’m a charity case now?”

“Hardly. This is business.”

“And what business is that?”

“I’m offering you a contract marriage.”