Chapter 12

Isabelle didn't go far.

She stood at the end of the corridor, phone still warm in her hand, staring at the message she had just received until the screen dimmed on its own.

Then she rebuilt her face.

By the time she stepped back into the elevator, she looked exactly like a woman who had simply forgotten her handbag and found it right where she left it. She checked her reflection in the polished steel doors, adjusted one earring, and smiled at nothing in particular.

She was good at that.

She had always been good at that.

---

Inside the office, Elena was still holding the photograph in her mind even after Lucien had taken it from her hands.

"Marcus wouldn't meet Adrian without a reason," she said. "He barely tolerates him. My father used to joke that Marcus only shakes Adrian's hand because it's rude not to."

"People shake hands with men they're using too."

"You think Marcus was using him?"

"I think someone was using someone. I don't know which direction yet."

Elena sat down slowly.

"Two days before he asked for the divorce."

"Yes."

"So the meeting came first."

"It did."

"Which means the affair wasn't the beginning."

Lucien didn't answer immediately, and that told her more than an answer would have.

"Say it," she said.

"The affair might have been useful to someone. A convenient reason for you to be discredited before anyone had to explain why."

Elena stared at the desk.

"Discredited from what?"

"That's the question."

"You keep saying that."

"Because it keeps being true."

She pressed her palms against her eyes for a moment, then dropped her hands. "My father let me be humiliated in front of everyone I know because he believed I was a thief. If this was never about the affair—"

"Then someone made very sure he believed it anyway."

"Marcus."

"Possibly."

"You keep saying possibly."

"I keep meaning it."

Elena exhaled, sharp and frustrated, and looked up at him. "You're the most careful liar I've ever met."

"I'm not lying."

"You're withholding."

"There's a difference."

"Not to the person on the other side of it."

Something in his expression shifted, not quite apology, but close enough that she let it go.

The door opened before either of them could say anything else.

Isabelle walked back in, handbag now in hand, expression perfectly composed.

"Forgot this," she said lightly, holding it up as evidence.

Lucien's eyes moved to her for a beat longer than necessary. "You were quick."

"I know this building better than you do. I used to live two floors down." Her gaze slid to Elena, warm and unbothered. "Don't let him talk you into anything without reading the fine print first. It's a habit of his."

"I'll remember that."

"Good." Isabelle smiled, slung the bag over her shoulder, and turned toward the door again. At the threshold, she paused, glancing back with an expression that looked, for half a second, almost fond. "It was nice meeting you, Elena."

"You too."

The door closed softly behind her.

Elena watched it for a moment after she'd gone.

"She's very charming."

"She's very good at being charming."

"Is there a difference?"

Lucien looked at her. "With Isabelle, always."

---

Marcus Whitfield's office occupied the eleventh floor of a building his family had owned since before Elena was born, and the receptionist who greeted her the next morning did not look pleased to see her.

"Mr. Whitfield isn't expecting you."

"I'm aware."

"He has a call in ten minutes."

"Then I'll be quick."

Elena walked past the desk before the receptionist could decide whether to stop her, and pushed open the door to Marcus's office without knocking.

He looked up from his desk, and for exactly one second, something crossed his face that Elena recognized instantly.

Fear.

It was gone almost as fast as it appeared, replaced by the practiced warmth he'd used at every family dinner she could remember.

"Elena. What a surprise."

"Is it?"

He set down his pen carefully, the way a man does when he wants his hands to look steady. "I heard about everything that happened. I'm sorry."

"Are you."

"Of course."

Elena walked further into the room and stopped in front of his desk. "I have a photograph of you meeting Adrian at Hotel Beaumont. Two days before he told me he wanted a divorce."

Marcus's jaw tightened, just slightly.

"Business," he said. "Adrian consults with several of us on the holding company's positions."

"Funny. Adrian's never mentioned consulting anyone in his life. He barely consults his own lawyers before he signs something."

"I don't know what you're implying."

"I'm not implying anything yet." Elena leaned forward, resting both hands on the edge of his desk. "I'm asking. What were you discussing?"

"Elena—"

"You flinched when I walked in, Marcus. People don't flinch at family."

His composure slipped for the first time, something tightening around his eyes.

"You should be careful who you're spending time with," he said quietly. "Lucien Vale doesn't help people out of kindness."

"That's not an answer."

"It's advice."

"I didn't ask for advice."

Marcus stood, buttoning his jacket, putting the desk more firmly between them. "I have a call."

"Marcus."

He didn't look at her again.

"Some things are bigger than a family argument," he said. "You should let this one go."

Elena stood there for a long moment after he'd walked out of his own office, staring at the door he'd left through rather than face her.

Bigger than a family argument.

She thought about the money that had appeared from nowhere. About a man supposedly dead for twelve years. About Vantage Meridian, and a timestamp that existed before the event it claimed to record.

Whatever this was, it hadn't started with Adrian and Vivian at all.

It had simply used them.

Her phone buzzed as she stepped back into the elevator. A text from an unknown number, the same kind that had warned her before.

'You went to see Marcus. That wasn't smart.'

Elena's fingers went cold around the phone.

A second message followed before she could respond.

'Ask Lucien what happened to the last woman who got too close to this.'