ElaraThe Sterling Holdings tower was a shard of cold, reflective glass piercing the Manhattan skyline. Elara felt its shadow upon her the moment she stepped out of the taxi. She’d chosen her armor carefully: a simple, well-cut black dress that was the most conservative thing she owned, and her mother’s antique silver locket, a tiny piece of her real self she could cling to. Her chestnut curls were tamed into a low bun, but a few rebellious strands had already escaped.The lobby was a cathedral of wealth, all marble and echoing silence. A sleek, silent elevator whisked her to the top floor. With every passing floor, the air felt thinner, colder.Marcus Thorne, Kaelan’s right-hand man, met her at the elevator bank. He had a kind, if professionally neutral, face. “Ms. Vega. Mr. Sterling is ready for you.”He led her not to a conference room, but to Kaelan’s private office. The room was vast, with a panoramic view of the cit
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