Zara Fen POV
The sickening click of the electronic lock resetting echoes through the silent penthouse like a gunshot.
Elara stands in the entryway, shedding her dark silk cloak with a slow, calculated grace that makes my stomach turn. Beneath it, she wears a pristine, silver-threaded gown—the unmistakable color of the Silvercrest inner circle. The color I was stripped of.
"Look at you," Elara purrs, her heels clicking sharply against the polished marble as she steps deeper into the room. Her eyes sweep over my simple Southern traveling clothes, filled with a malicious amusement. "From an Alpha’s fated mate to a back-alley servant hiding in the shadows of the South. They really will let anyone into these exhibitions, won't they?"
I don't look at her face. I track her hands.
My fingers
