Bianca didn't sleep that night.
Neither did Elara.
The house carried the tension like a living thing—walls listening, shadows remembering. Elara stood at the window in her room, watching the east wing where Bianca had been sent. One light flicked on. Then off. Then on again.
Restless.
Just like her.
A soft knock came.
Elara didn't turn. "Come in."
Dominic entered quietly, jacket discarded, sleeves rolled. He looked tired in a way power usually hid.
"She's made three calls," he said. "Two to people I don't like. One to someone I don't know."
Elara's stomach tightened. "And?"
"And I let her," he said. "For now."
She finally faced him. "You're using her."
"I'm watching her," he corrected. "There's a difference."
Elara crossed her arms. "She's dangerous when she feels cornered."
Dominic stepped closer. "So are you."
Her breath caught—not at the words, but the way he said them. Not accusation. Recognition.
"You didn't fold tonight," he continued. "You didn't lash out. You chose precision."
"I learned that growing up with her," Elara said softly. "Emotion is what Bianca feeds on."
Dominic studied her like she was a puzzle he hadn't known he needed to solve. "Then tell me what she'll do next."
Elara hesitated. "She'll stop attacking me directly."
"Meaning?"
"She'll come for my reputation," Elara said. "My past. My work. Anyone who ever mattered to me."
Dominic's jaw set. "Then we move first."
---
The next morning, Elara's phone buzzed.
Unknown Number: Coffee. Noon. You deserve answers.
Her chest tightened.
Evan.
Dominic saw her expression shift. "Who?"
"My ex," Elara said honestly. "The one Bianca keeps orbiting."
Dominic didn't react immediately. Then: "You're going."
She blinked. "You're… letting me?"
"I'm trusting you," he said. "There's a difference."
He leaned in, voice low. "But you won't be alone."
---
The café was neutral territory. Public. Bright. Safe.
Evan looked nervous when Elara arrived—older than she remembered, less sure of himself.
"You're married," he said immediately. "To him."
"Yes."
"Is it real?"
Elara met his gaze. "Why are you asking?"
He exhaled. "Because Bianca came to me last night. She said you're trapped. That you need help."
Elara went still. "And you believed her?"
"I believed she wants something," Evan admitted. "And I believed she's dangerous."
Elara nodded slowly. "That's the first honest thing you've said."
He leaned forward. "She asked me for files. Old messages. Photos. Things from when we were together."
Elara's pulse thudded. "Did you give them to her?"
"No," he said quickly. "But she'll find another way."
Across the street, Dominic watched from the car, eyes never leaving the café window.
Elara stood. "Thank you for telling me."
"Be careful," Evan said quietly. "This isn't about love. It's about control."
Elara paused. "I know."
---
That night, Dominic poured two glasses of whiskey—one for himself, one untouched.
"She's trying to unmake you," he said.
Elara leaned against the desk. "She's trying to make me doubt myself."
"And?"
Elara lifted her chin. "It won't work."
Dominic's gaze darkened—not with anger, but something deeper. Approval. Want.
"She underestimated you," he said.
"So did you," Elara replied.
A beat.
He stepped closer, close enough that the space between them felt charged. "Not anymore."
Their eyes locked. The moment stretched—heat without touch, tension without release.
Then Dominic stepped back.
"Tomorrow," he said, "we expose her leverage."
Elara nodded. "Together."
Outside, Bianca stood in the east wing hallway, phone pressed to her ear, whispering plans that were already unraveling.
She wanted a war.
She was getting one.