Elena always preferred entrances.
Not dramatic ones—calculated ones. The kind that looked accidental from a distance and inevitable up close. When she steps into the hearing room fifteen minutes early, dressed in soft neutrals and concern, she already knows where the cameras will angle.
She doesn’t look at me.
That’s deliberate.
I almost respect it.
The room hums with quiet anticipation. Legal teams shuffle papers. A clerk clears her throat too often. This isn’t a trial—not yet. It’s an inquiry. A question mark disguised as process.
Elena sits across the aisle.
Still doesn’t look at me.
Good.
If she did, she’d see recognition.
I didn’t expect Lucien Vale to use her so quickly.
That was my mistake.
Elena is useful because she doesn’t know she’s being used. She believes the story
