Elara
"Ms. Voss, you should consider the offer carefully."
Elara stood across the polished desk, her fingers tightening slightly around the strap of her bag.
Her professor didn't look up immediately.
He flipped through a file, slow… deliberate… like time wasn't pressing against her chest.
"It's not something that comes twice," he added.
Elara swallowed. "I understand, sir. I just—"
She paused. "I need to talk to my mother first."
That made him look up.
There was something in his eyes. Not concern. Not pride.
Something unreadable.
"Of course," he said simply. "But don't take too long. Opportunities like this…"
A small pause.
"They don't wait."
The apartment smelled faintly of burnt garlic.
Elara stood by the kitchen entrance, her suitcase still resting beside her leg.
"I got selected," she said.
Her voice sounded smaller than she expected.
Her mother didn't turn.
The pan sizzled loudly, oil popping against the sides as Evelyn Voss stirred without urgency.
"For the internship," Elara added. "The one I told you about. It's… it's in the city. Full-time."
Silence.
Just the sound of metal against metal.
The slow scrape of the spoon.
"It means I'll have to move closer," Elara continued. "They're offering accommodation. I won't have to travel back and forth anymore. I can focus properly. It's a good opportunity."
"And?" her mother's voice came, flat. Empty.
Elara blinked.
"I'm asking if that's okay," she said, softer now. "I mean… I'll be gone most of the time and—"
The spoon hit the pan with a sharp clang.
Evelyn turned.
Her eyes were cold. Not angry. Not emotional.
Just… distant.
"Where you go and who you stay with stopped being my concern a long time ago."
The words landed harder than they should have.
Elara felt it—sharp, quiet, sinking.
Still, she nodded.
Once.
"Okay."
Her mother had already turned back to the stove.
Conversation over.
Just like always.
Elara packed that night.
Not much to take. There never was.
A few clothes. Books. Her camera—carefully wrapped like it was the only thing that mattered.
She paused for a second, staring at the small room.
Nothing here felt like hers.
Not anymore.
It hadn't since her father died.
Something in her mother had gone with him.
And whatever was left behind…
Didn't know how to love her.
The next morning came too quickly.
The city looked different up close.
Bigger. Colder.
Hungry.
Elara stepped out of the cab, adjusting her bag as her eyes lifted to the building in front of her.
Glass. Steel. Power.
Everything about it screamed money.
Influence.
Control.
She hesitated for just a second.
Then she walked in.
"Name?"
"Elara Voss."
The receptionist's fingers paused mid-typing.
Just for a second.
Then continued.
"Take the elevator. Top floor."
The doors opened too smoothly.
Too quietly.
Elara stepped out, her heartbeat picking up without warning.
Something felt… off.
Like she had just walked into something she didn't fully understand.
"Right on time."
The voice came from behind her.
Low. Controlled.
Dangerously calm.
Elara turned.
And for a moment—
She forgot how to breathe.
He stood there like he owned the air around him.
Dark suit. Sharp eyes. Presence that didn't ask for attention—it demanded it.
"Lucien Moretti," he said, watching her closely.
Not smiling.
Not welcoming.
Just… observing.
Like she was something to be studied.
Elara forced herself to speak.
"Elara Voss."
A flicker passed through his eyes.
Something quick.
Something unreadable.
"Good," he murmured.
And then—
almost too quietly—
"Right where you're supposed to be."
Elara didn't know it yet.
But walking into that building…
Was the moment everything in her life started to unravel.
