Rain lashed against the windows as if the sky itself was screaming. Inside the penthouse, silence reigned—thick, electric, and suffocating. Elowen stood barefoot in the center of the room, her silk robe hanging open at the collar like a gaping wound. Her hands were trembling, but not from the cold. It was the kind of tremble born of fury—and fear. Because the truth had finally ripped through the veil, and there was no unseeing it.
The flash drive Rhea had handed her hours ago now rested on the marble counter. Its contents burned in her mind: footage, documents, voice notes. Rowan’s voice. Celeste’s laughter. The sordid exchange of promises and threats.
Elowen had seen it all. And it felt like dying slowly.
She stared at the image frozen on the screen. Celeste’s manicured hand running ac
