From Ocean's Grave To Queen

Fifteen years. That' s how long my fiancé, Blake, and I spent building our empire from nothing. On the night he was supposed to propose, a single phone call shattered our perfect future.

He publicly abandoned me for a young art student, Hayleigh, who then framed me for violent attacks and faked a pregnancy to win his sympathy.

The nightmare ended on a cliff's edge, where our rival forced a choice: save me, or save her.

Blake screamed her name.

Even my own birth parents, tech billionaires who had only just found me, chose her over their own flesh and blood.

As I plunged into the icy ocean, I didn't understand. Why would the man I built a life with, and the family I just found, abandon me for a web of lies?

They all thought I was dead. But two years later, I walked back into Miami, ready to take back my city and burn their world to the ground.

Chapter 1

Eleanor POV:

The proposal should have been perfect. Fifteen years. That's how long it took to build everything, from a single dive bar in Miami's roughest neighborhood to an empire that stretched across the city. Blake and I, we were a force. An unbreakable unit. He was about to ask, publicly, to make it forever. My heart was a drum against my ribs, a joyful beat for a future I thought was finally secure. Then my phone rang.

It was Marco, his voice tight. "Eleanor, you need to get down to the waterfront. Blake... he's lost his mind."

My blood ran cold, a familiar chill that always preceded chaos when Blake was involved. But this time was different. "What are you talking about?"

"It's Hayleigh. That art student. Brock Hawkins is there. It's bad."

I didn't wait for more. I grabbed my keys, the diamond ring I' d picked out for my proposal-a secret I planned to spring on him later that night-still heavy in my pocket. The drive was a blur, my mind racing, trying to piece together Marco' s frantic words. Hayleigh. Brock. Violence. None of it fit the night we had planned.

When I arrived, the scene was a mess. Flashing lights painted the dock in stark reds and blues. Brock Hawkins, our smirking rival, was on the ground, a growing crimson stain spreading on his pristine white shirt. Blake stood over him, fists clenched, a wild, protective fury in his eyes I hadn't seen since our early days, fighting for every inch of turf. But this wasn't for me. This wasn't for us.

He was looking at Hayleigh, who cowered behind him, clutching his arm, her face a mask of terror. Or was it something else? I watched as Brock, despite his injury, spat a taunt. "Protecting your little whore, Griffin? Thought you were a man of taste."

Blake roared, a primal sound of rage, and lunged again. My stomach churned. He was letting himself be humiliated, publicly, for her. I had taken