Elara adjusted the strap of her dress and glanced at the mirror. The reflection staring back was composed, careful, but her eyes betrayed her thoughts. Every line of her body screamed tension. Every flicker of her gaze told the world she was alert, aware, and unwilling to be caught off guard.
The Cross mansion was alive with quiet activity. Servants moved silently, setting tables, arranging flowers, adjusting curtains. Everything was meticulous, precise, polished to the smallest detail. The kind of perfection meant to impress, to intimidate, and to control perception.
Dante appeared in the doorway, as silent and precise as always. His presence filled the room before he spoke.
"You look ready," he said, voice smooth and even, but carrying that familiar weight.
Elara did not answer immed
