Elara returned to the Harrington estate after midnight.
The house looked the same—immaculate, imposing, unshaken by the chaos it had unleashed—but she was not. Every step she took across the marble floor felt heavier, as though the truth Vivian had laid bare had altered gravity itself.
She did not go to the bedroom.
Instead, she walked straight into Lucas's study.
The lights were on.
He was there.
Lucas stood by the window, phone in hand, jacket discarded, sleeves rolled up. He hadn't changed since the gala. The man who had once seemed untouchable now looked… strained. Not broken. Not yet. But stretched thin in a way power could not easily conceal.
"You went to see her," he said without turning.
Elara closed the door behind her. "You knew I would."
"Yes."
That answer stung more than denial would have.
She stepped closer, stopping just short of the desk that had once symbolized safety to her. "You let her find me."
