The first light pressed against the suite’s windows, cutting through layers of silence. Morning had a way of stripping illusions bare, peeling them back until only the truth remained.

Alexia’s consciousness surfaced. Each inhale measured, calibrated against the weight of the moment. The bed beneath her was too warm, too unfamiliar. The sheets twisted around her like a muted accusation—one she wasn’t ready to acknowledge.

Elliot lay beside her. Not asleep. Not fully awake. Lingering in that space between intention and surrender.

Alexia didn’t belong here. The thought wasn’t emotional. It was a fact.

Distance equaled control. Distance equaled safety.

Her fingers traced the edge of the sheet—testing, preparing. Nine steps to the door. Her clothes, draped over the chair, stood as a silent reminder: she never planned to stay… or did she?

One breath. Two. She moved. Slow. Deliberate.

A whisper of fabric. Then—a shift.

Small. Imperceptible to most. But Alexia noticed.

The faintest change in Elliot’s breathing. The subtle curl of his fingers against the sheet. He wasn’t asleep.

A moment of uneasiness. Annoyance? Hesitation? Her pulse quickened before she pushed it away.

Her fingers brushed against the cool fabric of her shirt.

"You’re thinking too loud."

His voice—rough with sleep but clear—cut through the quiet like a blade.

Alexia stilled. Her grip on the shirt tightened.

Elliot didn’t move. Didn’t turn. But his presence expanded, settling over her like a slow, deliberate pull.

"Didn’t realize my thoughts were your business."

Silence stretched between them. Too long.

Then—finally—he shifted. Just enough for her to see it.

The edge of his mouth curved slightly. Not quite a smirk. Not quite a smile.

"Everything about you is my business."

Her stomach twisted. Unwanted. Unnecessary. She crushed it down before it could settle.

Her movements remained efficient and controlled.

She pulled the shirt on over her head.

"Then you’re in the wrong business."

This time, Elliot didn’t respond.

Alexia didn’t hesitate. Nine steps. The door.

She didn’t look back.

But as her fingers closed around the handle, the weight of his gaze clung to her skin.

An unspoken thing... a moment of truth, nor willingness to name.

Morning light filtered through the blinds, casting lines across the surface of Ava’s workspace. The estate’s latest security logs scrolled across her screen, each entry precise, each timestamp a marker of controlled movement.

Her coffee sat beside her—cold, untouched. She hadn’t noticed.

Ben entered without a word.

A fresh cup of tea appeared in place of the coffee.

Ava acknowledged the gesture with a glance—nothing more, nothing less.

“I saw something.”

Ben didn’t ask what. He waited.

Ava tapped the screen, the security feed shifting to a paused frame.

Alexia.

Captured mid-stroke in her studio, brush moving in a way that betrayed more than technique. Emotion bled through the color—raw, unfiltered.

“She’s revealing more than she realizes,” Ava murmured.

Ben studied the image, reading beyond the painting, beyond the movement.

“She always does,” he said. “Elliot’s in trouble.”

Ava reached for her suitcase, unzipping and pulling out a device. Set it on the table.

Ben picked it up, turning it over in his palm. A weightless thing.

“Early pregnancy safety gear,” Ava said, her tone casual, as if discussing the weather. “Designed for movement. Lightweight. No interference.”

Ben turned it over again. Ran his fingers along its edge.

“You think of everything,” he said.

Ava met his gaze, her lips curving slightly. “It’s necessary.”

Ben studied her for a long moment, then set the device down and leaned in. His fingers brushed against her temple—light, lingering. A touch that held no urgency, only certainty.

Ava exhaled, a small giggle slipping out.

Ben’s lips twitched as he checked his watch. “Thirty minutes.”

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Ava arched an eyebrow. “Until what?”

Ben’s voice was low, controlled. “One hour before meeting Elliot and the others.”

“Feisty today?”

Ben’s answer was a slow, lingering kiss.

Ava’s hands sliding up his arms, fingers pressing into a muscle. A moment where everything else ceased to exist.

Then—reality intruded.

Ben pulled back, his gaze flickering to the time again. “I should go.”

Ava smiled this time. Not a smirk. A smile.

She traced a single finger along the edge of his collar.

“You should. But you’re not.”

Ben exhaled, a short chuckle escaping his lips. “Not yet.”

And with that, he kissed her again. Stealing moments for 30 minutes.

The studio breathed with potential.

Canvases leaned against the walls—silent witnesses to Alexia’s internal chaos. Brushes rested in their precise order, waiting. The scent of paint hung in the air, grounding her. This space was hers. The one place where the outside world held no claim.

She moved through it with purpose. Every step is a decision, not a reaction. Control was everything.

Ava appeared in the doorway, but not entering.

“How are you holding up?”

Alexia didn’t look up. She adjusted a tube of paint, fingers tightening just slightly before relaxing again.

"Still here."

“We’ll talk later.” Ava left to prep for the meeting.

Five minutes passed in silence.

Then—the knock. She knew it was Elliot.

He didn’t wait for an invitation. He walked inside, gazing, sweeping across the canvas before settling on her.

Reading something beneath the surface. Something she didn’t want him to see.

“You stayed.” His voice was neutral. Too neutral.

Alexia’s spine stiffened, but she didn’t turn. “Obviously.”

Before the moment could settle, another knock... Anna.

Alexia exhaled, frustration creeping in. Her space invaded. Again.

She glance toward Ava. “Come in. It’s traffic hour.”

“What?”

Alexia shook her head. “Never mind.”

“You coming to the meeting?”

Alexia hesitated. The tension in her shoulders didn’t ease, but shifted.

“No.”

Then, softer, muttered under her breath—more truth than she intended to give:

“Maybe I can actually paint if everyone else is at the meeting.”

The words landed.

Ava caught them. Elliot did too.

Alexia could feel their reactions in the silence, in the weight of unspoken understanding.

No one responded.

No one had to.

The moment stretched—heavy, unresolved.

Then, just like that, it passed.

Anna gave a small nod and stepped back. “I’ll let them know.”

Ava lingered a second longer before following.

Elliot, however, didn’t move.

Alexia’s grip tightened around the paintbrush in her hand.

She didn’t look at him. But she felt him.

Watching.

Waiting.

A battle she refused to acknowledge.

Finally, he turned and walked out.

Alexia let out a slow breath.

Alone again.

For now.

The study was a precision instrument.

Nothing in this space was accidental—not placing people, not the controlled silence between words.

Elliot stood at the head of the table, his posture sharp with unspoken authority. Ben and Ava flanked him, an unspoken unit. Across from them, Harris and Sarah held tactical positions, their focus razor-sharp.

Alexia remained slightly apart. Not an outsider, but not fully integrated. Watching. Learning.

“We’re not waiting,” Elliot said.

His voice cut through the room—final, decisive. No room for argument. No hesitation.

“We’re creating movement.”

Ben tapped his tablet. A map flickered onto the screen, highlighting strategic engagement points.

“Éclat Restaurant.”

The words came from Ava, crisp, deliberate. Not a suggestion—a decision.

“Edward and Myra will be our first test.”

Anna leaned forward, noting something in the data others might have missed. "He accepted the invitation without consulting Myra."

Ben’s response was instant. “Exactly.”

Elliot’s gaze swept the table, his presence pulling their attention tighter.

“Taylor and Sheila will handle external surveillance. Steven drives. No exceptions.”

No one questioned the orders.

No one needed to.

Alexia listened, absorbing everything.

The layers of the conversation weren’t just about logistics. They were about power, about control, about setting the board before the real game began.

“The goal,” Ava continued, her voice clinical, measured, “is to reveal without exposing. To test without triggering.”

A long silence. The kind that meant everyone understood what was at stake.

Then Ben turned to Alexia.

His gaze locked onto hers. “You understand?”

Her response was immediate.

Clear. Controlled.

“I’m learning.”

Ben studied her for a second longer, then nodded.

The briefing continued, but Alexia knew something had shifted.

She wasn’t just watching anymore.

She was part of the board, if she wanted to be.

The air inside Éclat was thick with understated elegance—soft ambient lighting, muted conversation, and the deliberate quiet of wealth.

Everything about Ben and Ava flanking Alexia, a formation that looked natural but wasn’t. Every seat, every placement, was intentional.

Across the room, Edward and Myra entered.

The atmosphere shifted. Subtle, but noticeable—if you were paying attention.

Alexia was.

Myra’s movements were controlled, but not fluid. Tension laced the way her fingers curled around the stem of her wineglass.

Edward’s hand rested on her arm—casual to an outsider, but deliberate.

A silent claim. A reminder.

Halfway through the appetizer, Ben’s phone vibrated.

One glance. A barely perceptible shift in his jaw.

Ava noticed instantly. Her eyes flicked to his before he even spoke.

A message from Taylor.

To set his napkin down and spoke low and controlled. “Perimeter breach.”

Elliot didn’t move, didn’t flinch, but his hand subtly tapped against the table. His fingers sent a silent sequence of instructions to the security team.

Ben passed Ava his phone, letting her read the message.

The words were chilling in their simplicity.

“You don’t get to choose who walks away.”

Ava’s lips pressed together, a flicker of tension tightening her expression before smoothing back into neutrality.

Elliot reached for his glass, taking a slow sip, his movements carefully calculated.

Alexia caught all of it.

The way the conversation at the table didn’t pause. The way Elliot’s posture remained casual. The way Ben and Ava’s hands never strayed far from reach.

This wasn’t dinner.

This was a chessboard.

A calculated operation where every word, every movement, could be intelligence or a trap.

Alexia wasn’t just observing anymore.

She was understanding.

The truth was forming, layered, and complex. And it had nothing to do with the meal in front of them.

The club pulsed with controlled chaos.

Aurora Noir was the place that thrived in the space between performance and reality—a world where people played roles without realizing they were being watched.

The music was loud, but not distracting. The beat didn’t drown out the tension—it underscored it.

Ben and Ava moved as one.

Not obviously. Not in the way couples danced to be seen. Their movements were fluid, synchronized, instinctive. A language built over years of knowing exactly how the other would respond.

They weren’t dancing. They were watching.

Elliot and Alexia wove through the crowd, his grip on her wrist light but unyielding.

A guide. A signal. A warning.

Alexia didn’t resist, but she also didn’t surrender to it.

She was learning. This wasn’t just a club. It was a hunting ground.

In the farthest booth, Edward and Myra sat in shadow.

Close, but not close. His hand rested on her arm—not a gesture of affection, but of ownership.

From the edge of the dance floor Ava watched.

Her voice was barely above a whisper as she spoke to Ben. “Watch how he touches her.”

Ben’s only response was a microscopic nod.

Elliot leaned into Alexia, his breath near her ear—not intimate, but strategic. His words slipped through the music like a current beneath the surface.

“The truth is…”

The rest was lost to the bass-line.

Alexia caught fragments. Not enough. Just enough.

Her body stiffened for half a second before she forced herself to relax.

Elliot’s hold on her wrist loosened—but didn’t let go.

The night continued around them.

People danced. Laughed. Drank. Completely unaware that beneath the music, beneath the conversations, something far more dangerous was unfolding beneath the surfaces of secrets.

The truth wasn’t something spoken outright.

It was buried beneath all the internal noise.

Alexia just had to figure out if she wanted to hear it.

A presence shifted beside her.

Ava leaned in, her voice just loud enough to cut through the music.

"The truth is... there was a..."

Alexia turned, heart pounding—but Ava had already started walking away.