Elara learned one thing quickly.
Silence was louder in the penthouse.
It pressed against her ears. Followed her footsteps. Sat beside her in every room.
At exactly eight o'clock, she stepped into the dining area.
Adrian was already there.
Of course he was.
He sat at the head of a long black table set for two. The city glittered behind him like a kingdom bowing at his feet.
He didn't look up when she approached.
"You're on time," he said.
"You said not to be late."
He finally lifted his gaze.
"And you follow instructions well."
It wasn't a compliment.
She sat across from him.
Dinner was untouched.
Neither of them were here to eat.
---
"You'll begin tomorrow," Adrian said, cutting into his food with mechanical precision. "You'll manage my schedule. Screen calls. Attend meetings."
"Why would you trust me with that?"
"I don't trust you."
"Then this is pointless."
"No," he said calmly. "It's strategic."
She watched him carefully.
"You want me where you can see me."
"Yes."
"You want to control the narrative."
"Yes."
"You want me dependent on you."
A pause.
"Yes."
The honesty should have shocked her.
Instead, it confirmed what she already knew.
"You think if I stay close long enough, I'll slip," she said.
"If you're guilty," he replied, "you will."
---
Halfway through dinner, his phone buzzed.
He ignored it.
It buzzed again.
And again.
His jaw tightened slightly before he finally answered.
"What."
Silence on the other end.
His expression shifted — barely — but she noticed.
"Handle it," he said quietly, and hung up.
"Problem?" she asked before she could stop herself.
His eyes snapped to hers.
"You don't ask questions."
"You brought me here."
"And that was not an invitation."
The tension returned instantly.
She leaned back slightly.
"You're not the only one who lost something that night."
His fork stilled.
"My life is gone," she continued. "My job. My home. My reputation."
"And my mother is dead."
That ended the comparison.
The air went sharp.
"I didn't kill her," she said again.
His voice lowered.
"Then why were you there?"
"I told you. I got off work."
"Why that street?"
"It's the fastest way home."
"Convenient."
Her chair scraped softly as she stood.
"You keep saying that word like it's proof."
His gaze followed her as she moved toward the window.
Rain had started again.
The city blurred beneath them.
"You think I don't see what you're doing?" she asked quietly.
He didn't answer.
"You're trying to hurt me enough that it balances your grief."
Something dangerous flickered in his eyes.
"Careful."
"Why?" she turned to face him fully now. "You already took everything."
He stood slowly.
Not aggressive.
Not rushed.
But the shift in height and proximity made the room feel smaller.
"You have no idea," he said quietly, stepping closer, "what I'm capable of taking."
Her pulse spiked.
But she didn't move.
Didn't retreat.
That surprised him.
"You're not afraid of me," he observed.
"I am," she admitted.
Honesty hung between them.
"But I'm more afraid of becoming what you think I am."
That—
That made him pause.
Just for a second.
Then the knock at the door shattered the moment.
Adrian stepped back immediately, mask sliding back into place.
Victor Hale entered without waiting.
His smile was polite.
Measured.
Sympathetic.
"Adrian," Victor said softly. "We need to talk."
His eyes flicked to Elara briefly.
Assessing.
Too calm.
Too observant.
"She's staying," Adrian said flatly.
Victor's brows lifted slightly. "Is that wise?"
"Yes."
Victor nodded slowly.
"There's been… media movement," he continued carefully. "A new angle. Someone leaked that she was near your mother's car before impact."
Elara's stomach dropped.
"That's a lie."
Victor's gaze rested on her longer than necessary.
"Perhaps."
Adrian's eyes darkened.
"Find the source."
"We're trying."
Something about the way Victor said it felt wrong.
Controlled.
Almost rehearsed.
Elara noticed.
And when Victor's phone buzzed in his hand, she saw something else.
A flash of a message preview before he locked the screen.
'Everything is aligning.'
Her heart skipped.
Aligning?
Victor excused himself smoothly and left.
The door closed.
The silence returned.
But now it felt different.
Sharper.
"You saw something," Adrian said suddenly.
She stiffened.
"What?"
"Your expression changed."
She hesitated.
If she said nothing, she stayed safe.
If she spoke—
She stepped deeper into danger.
"I think," she said slowly, "you're looking in the wrong direction."
His eyes narrowed.
"Explain."
"I saw another car that night."
"We've established that."
"No," she insisted, stepping closer. "You've dismissed it."
He studied her face.
Searching.
"For what?" he asked quietly.
"For someone who benefits from her death."
The words landed heavily.
He didn't respond immediately.
Because he knew.
His mother had been making moves recently.
Investigating internal finances.
Pushing against board members.
Victor had disagreed with her more than once.
But suspicion without proof was dangerous.
"You're trying to redirect blame," he said.
"Or I'm trying to survive."
Rain hammered harder against the glass.
Lightning flickered across the sky.
For a moment, their reflections merged in the window — power and accusation standing side by side.
"If I find out you're lying," Adrian said softly, "there will be nothing left of you."
"And if I'm telling the truth?" she challenged.
Silence.
Because that possibility was worse.
If she was innocent…
Then he had just imprisoned the wrong person.
And trusted the wrong ones instead.
He stepped away first.
"Go to your room," he said coldly.
She didn't argue.
But as she walked away, she knew something had shifted.
Not in her.
In him.
And somewhere in the city—
Victor Hale deleted a message.
And smiled again.
Because doubt had just been planted.
Exactly where he needed it.