I kept reminding myself this was all part of the plan.
Kaelen had told me himself.
I believed him.
I still do.
But believing doesn't stop the sting.
The morning after the photoshoot, the world woke up to Bella and Kaelen.
The photos were everywhere — glossy, immaculate, too intimate to look staged.
His hand on her waist.
Her laughter aimed directly at his shoulder.
And those headlines —
"Vancourt's Power Duo Redefines Partnership."
"Chemistry You Can't Fake."
I told myself it was theatre.
That I'd agreed to this performance.
That I knew the script.
And yet… every time I saw her smiling beside him, every time the TV anchors called them the face of Island Residence, something inside me felt just a little less solid.
Days passed.
While the world obsessed over their vision, I buried myself in the construction work — the one thing that couldn't lie to me.
I spent hours in site offices surrounded by blueprints and dust, the smell of cement mixing with coffee and rain.
I negotiated with contractors, approved logistics, met vendors who barely looked up from their tablets when they mumbled, "You're with Sterling, right? The Smith lady's been all over the news."
Sienna sent me updates in bursts of encrypted text —
Sienna: The photographer's IP bounced through three dummy servers. But I found a lead.
Sienna: Someone wired him cash through a holding account connected to Vancourt PR.
Every message from her was a thread I clung to. A reminder that the storm around us wasn't just chaos — it was engineered.
Three days later - Vancourt Holdings, Executive Floor.
I should've knocked.
But the door was already ajar, and the sound of her laughter — low, glossy, a practiced melody — made me pause just long enough to regret it.
Bella was perched against Kaelen's desk, one hand resting near his papers, the other lightly tracing the rim of his coffee cup as if marking territory. Her blouse was white silk — translucent under the light, cut low enough to seem accidental.
Kaelen was half-turned toward her, scanning something on the screen. His expression neutral, focused.
He didn't see me.
But she did.
Her eyes flicked up, catching mine in the reflection of the glass partition.
And just like that — her body shifted.
The performance began.
She leaned closer to Kaelen, voice dropping an octave. "You're too tense, Kaelen," she said softly, fingers brushing the fabric of his sleeve. "You should let someone take care of you once in a while."
My stomach went cold.
Kaelen murmured something I couldn't hear — still oblivious to me. He reached for the document on the desk, his hand barely grazing hers. Bella laughed — the kind of laugh that filled a room and made silence look like guilt.
Then she turned her head, just slightly, as if sensing me in the doorway. Her smile widened — slow, deliberate.
"Elara," she said sweetly. "Oh, I didn't see you there."
Liar.
Kaelen's head snapped up. The faintest frown cut across his features — guilt, or maybe surprise.
"Elara?"
I stepped inside, file in hand. "I came to drop off the revised vendor schedule."
Bella straightened, but not before smoothing her blouse, her movement languid, almost feline."How professional of you," she said lightly. "Just leave it on the table. K and I will look at it when we have the time. He is quite tied up these days, aren't you, sweetie?"
She looked at Kaelen with a kind of intimate familiarity that made my chest tighten.
"He slept like a log after the shoot. I wished I could help you out with some of the work, K."
He shot her a look that could've burned through glass.
"Bella, that's enough."
She ignored him, tilting her head toward me.
"Honestly, Elara, I don't know how you keep up, knowing how far back we go. I'd go crazy watching my partner surrounded by cameras, models, whispers. You must really trust him, or is it the money you're after?"
Her tone was all innocence, her smile all venom.
I placed the file on the desk, right between them. "That isn't something I discuss with third parties. You wouldn't understand relationship anyway, would you?"
For a split second, the mask slipped — her lips tightening, the faint flick of her tongue against her teeth.
Then she smiled again, all saccharine charm.
"Oh, of course not. Just thought I'd mention — David wants Kaelen and me to attend the resort investors' dinner this weekend. We'll be away then. There's no need for you to come up with work to show up here, unannounced. But if you really want to chaperone, maybe you can come too. But only if you're not busy with… construction things."
"Maybe," I said evenly. "If I'm invited."
Kaelen exhaled, tension coiled in his shoulders. "Elara—"
But I was already stepping back toward the door. "Send me the final specs once you've reviewed them."
The corridor outside was quiet — the kind of quiet that pressed against your ribs.
Behind me, Bella's laughter floated through the open door, light and deliberate.
And for the first time since this began, I didn't know if Kaelen was still acting… or if I was watching him slip into the role he was supposed to play.
The city was already bruised with dusk when I drove back to the office.Rain slicked the roads, the skyline a blur of lights melting through the windshield.My reflection stared back at me from the glass — composed, controlled, a woman who shouldn't feel anything.
But my fingers wouldn't stop trembling against the steering wheel.
Bella's laugh kept replaying in my head.That hand on his sleeve. That look she gave me — sharp as glass, sweet as sugar.It wasn't jealousy that burned this time. It was humiliation.
It's one of the days where I miss the presence of my father. I've sent him on a cruise around the world, which I hoped would distance him from Diana - from the heart attack episode.
I felt my heart tightened at the thought. I can't lose him again. But I still can't find anything that would link Arachne Trust to Diana.
By the time I reached Sterling, the storm had broken.Thunder rolled overhead, a low warning.I went straight to my office, still dark except for the faint glow of my laptop.
One new message.From Sienna.
Subject: got something. u might wanna sit down for this.
I hit the call button before I could think.
Her voice came through, brisk and sharp, coffee and static."Elara, your photographer wasn't freelance. He's a subcontractor for a PR firm — Merevale Strategies. Guess who's been paying their retainer for the last six months?"
I closed my eyes. "Don't tell me."
"The Smiths. Through their accounts in the Swiss."
Of course.
"But, it's not done directly — they are careful — but the trail's there. I'm cross-checking shell companies now."
The air felt heavier. "Can you prove it?"
"Not yet. But I can trace the payment authorization. I'll need another day or two."
"Do it. Quietly."
Sienna hesitated. "Elara… you sound wrecked. I saw the photos of Kaelen and the wretched Smith. You sure you want to keep playing this game? Because if they're going for optics, this won't stop at one photo."
"I don't care," I said. "Just find me proof."
The line went quiet. Then: "I'll find it. And Elara? Watch your back."
When the call ended, I sat there, the rain hammering against the windows.Below, the city kept moving — indifferent, mechanical, beautiful.I used to love this view. Now it felt like a stage I could never leave.
I opened the news feed out of habit.And there it was again — another headline, another photo of Kaelen and Bella at a gallery launch that afternoon.His hand at her back, her head tilted toward him, the perfect angle for the press.
My chest twisted.I reminded myself — he's acting. He's doing this for the board, for the project, for us.But the camera didn't know that.The world didn't.
And sometimes, even I couldn't tell the difference anymore.
Later Late That Night
The city had gone quiet except for the rain.My office was dark except for the hum of the desk lamp and the faint reflection of lightning against the windows.The photo of them still glowed on my screen — Kaelen's arm behind Bella, her head tilted up, smiling at him like they were sharing a secret.
The phone on my desk buzzed.His name.
I hesitated before answering.
"Kaelen."
He exhaled softly. "You're still at the office?"
"Yeah. Lot's of things to do."
A beat of silence. Then, "How are you doing?"
"I'm... alright," I said, trying to sound neutral. My voice came out colder than I meant. "You and Bella at the gallery, the photo, the press captions. You're doing an excellent job selling the narrative."
"Elara." His tone sharpened slightly, the way it did when he was trying not to lose patience. "You know what this is. I told you—"
"I know," I cut in. "You're playing along. You're buying time. You're looking for proof. I know all of it."I paused. My next words came out softer. "It just looks so real, Kaelen."
He didn't answer immediately. When he spoke, his voice was low. "It's not real. You know that."
"I want to," I whispered. "But every headline is a knife."
There was a sound — like he'd run a hand over his face. "Elara, listen to me. I'm close to something. David's got a shadow fund tied to the Island Residence accounts. I can't move yet, but when I do, it'll take him down completely."
"Even if it takes me down with him?"
That hit him. I could hear it in the silence that followed.
"Elara…" He hesitated. "I'm doing this for us. For what we built. Don't lose faith now."
I swallowed, staring at the flickering city lights. "Then you better make sure the world knows where you actually stand."
"I don't care about the world," he said, quiet but fierce. "I care about you."
And just like that, all my practiced composure cracked.
"I wish you'd sound like that when the cameras are on," I murmured.
He didn't reply. There was only the sound of breathing between us — steady, relentless.
Finally, he said, "Go home, Elara. Get some rest."
The line went dead before I could say anything else.
I sat there, phone still pressed to my ear, long after the call ended — listening to the storm, trying to believe him.