The Grand Ballroom of the Pierre Hotel was a cathedral of excess. Crystal chandeliers hung like frozen explosions, casting sharp, jagged light over the city's elite. For Elara, the air felt thin, as if the oxygen was being sucked out by the hundreds of people smiling through their teeth.
Julian was in his element. He looked devastating in a midnight-blue tuxedo, his hand never leaving the small of Elara's back. He moved through the crowd like a predator in a well-tailored suit, accepting handshakes and whispers with a practiced ease.
"Smile, Anchor," Julian whispered against her ear, his breath smelling of expensive gin. "Tonight is the victory lap. After this, the audit is closed, and we're free."
Elara's smile felt like it was held up by wires. In her clutch, the burner phone felt like a hot coal. She had checked the logs—Julian had fabricated a month's worth of late-night "dates" and "gallery planning sessions" to account for the missing time he spent with the woman in white.
"Julian!" a sharp, metallic voice cut through the hum of the crowd.
Elara's heart stopped. Standing there was the woman from the docks. In the light of the ballroom, she was even more formidable. She wore a gown of silver scales that looked like armor.
"Elara, darling," Julian said, his voice smooth as glass. "I believe you haven't officially met my 'business consultant.' This is Sophia. She's the one who makes sure my investments... behave."
Sophia—the "S" from the napkin. She wasn't just a fixer; she was the bride from the wedding Elara had saved weeks ago. Julian's sister.
Sophia stepped forward, her eyes scanning Elara with a cold, clinical curiosity. "So, this is the girl who stays. I've heard so much about your loyalty, Elara. It's a rare trait in our world. Most people have the sense to run when they see a fire."
"I like the heat," Elara replied, her voice steadier than she felt.
Sophia leaned in, her voice dropping to a whisper that only Elara could hear. "Let's hope you don't mind the ashes. Julian thinks you're his anchor, but anchors are only useful until the ship needs to move fast. Then, they're the first thing cut loose."
Before Elara could respond, a group of investors swarmed Julian, pulling him toward the bar. Sophia lingered for a second, her gaze dropping to Elara's wrist—to the cheap silver charm bracelet.
"He gave you that?" Sophia let out a short, sharp laugh. "He bought those in bulk three years ago for his interns. The diamonds he gave me yesterday? Those were a down payment on his silence. You should really ask yourself what your silence is worth, Elara."
Sophia turned and vanished into the sea of silk and sequins.
Elara stood alone in the center of the ballroom, the music suddenly sounding like white noise. She looked across the room at Julian. He was laughing, tossing his head back, the perfect picture of success. He looked at her and winked, a gesture so boyish and innocent it made her stomach turn.
She reached into her clutch and pulled out the burner phone. Her thumb hovered over the "Power" button. One call to the lead auditor standing near the buffet—one look at the real GPS data on her own phone—and the hill would explode.
But as she looked at him, she felt that familiar, sickening pull. The thrill of being the only one who knew the monster behind the mask. The pride of being the one who didn't leave.
She shoved the phone back into her bag. She didn't break. She didn't run. She walked over to Julian, slid her arm through his, and joined the lie.