Luelle
The room was dimly lit, the soft glow of the lamp casting a warm light across the wood-panelled walls. Luelle sat stiffly in the armchair, her hands resting on the armrests, her gaze fixed on the stack of reports on the desk in front of her. Across from her, Charles leaned forward, his elbows resting on his knees, his sharp eyes scanning her face. He wasn't just her confidant—he was the person who knew her best. The one who had stood beside her through every deception, every calculated risk.
"They wanted you gone," Charles said finally, breaking the silence. His voice was steady, but there was an edge of concern beneath his calm tone. "The attacker wasn't there to send a message, Luelle. He was there to eliminate you. He wanted Elena King dead"
Luelle exhaled slowly, her jaw tightening as she processed his words. "They underestimated Ethan," she murmured. "They didn't expect him to interfere."
Charles nodded grimly. "Which means they'll try again. Whoever sent that man—"
"—wants me out of the way," she finished, her tone sharp. "They think Elena King is a threat, but why?"
Charles shifted in his seat, his hands clasped tightly together. "The question is, why now? Is it because you are more visible now, Elena hardly ever appeared in public before, so are you more accessible now…or…is it because you are close to Ethan?
Luelle's gaze flickered to the reports on the desk—the attacker's limited words repeating over and over in her mind. They'd gotten him, her people had found him before the Dominion did, but it hadn't mattered. He was expendable, and his only message before his death had been cryptic yet chilling: 'They will come again. They will rule.' He hadn't given them anything else. No names. No motives. Just those haunting words.
"It's bigger than me," she said softly, leaning forward. "I think the deeper play is Ethan. I am just not sure why they want me out of the picture."
"They want to weaken the Dominion," Charles says his voice heavy. "And everything that comes with it."
Luelle nodded, her fingers curling around the armrest. "He's their real target. I was just the first step."
Charles studied her, his brows furrowing. "Then you need to leave the Elena persona behind. It's not safe anymore. You're putting yourself at risk every second you stay close to him."
Her shoulders stiffened, and she shook her head firmly. "No."
"Luelle," Charles began, his tone almost pleading.
"I can't," she said sharply, cutting him off. "Elena is the only way I can stay near him. If I walk away now, if I disappear, he'll be vulnerable. He'll have no one watching his back."
Charles sat up straighter, his jaw tightening. "You're gambling with your life, staying as Elena. You're exposed to enemies you can't see."
"I know the risks," she replied, her gaze steady. "But this isn't about me. It's about Ethan."
Charles sighed, his fingers running through his hair. "You can't protect him alone, Luelle. Not like this. If whoever sent that man does come again—"
"They'll come for him," she said quietly, cutting him off. Her voice was softer now, her tone betraying the guilt that had been gnawing at her for days. "That's why I need you to increase security around Ethan. Quietly. The Dominion can't know."
Charles frowned. "You're asking for a delicate balance."
Charles watched her closely, his concern etched into his face. "I'll make the arrangements," he said reluctantly. "But Luelle—promise me, if it comes to it, if staying as Elena puts both of you in more danger, you'll leave the persona behind."
Her chest tightened at the thought, but she nodded. "We'll cross that bridge if we come to it."
Charles rose from his seat, smoothing his jacket. "Please just be careful." He looks at her with worry in his eyes.
As he left the room, Luelle leaned back, staring at the reports in front of her without really seeing them. The attacker's words echoed in her mind: 'They will come again. They will rule.'
She'd do whatever it took to keep Ethan safe. She didn't care how risky it was, how dangerous staying as Elena might become. She would stay close, and she would protect him.
The storm was building, and she knew the next move would come soon. But if her enemies thought they could take Ethan down, they had underestimated her. She wasn't about to let them win.
She walks to the window of her office letting out a slow breath as she stared out into the fading evening light. The horizon seemed endless, but the weight in her chest grounded her completely.
Ethan was recovering, yes—but the pace of it was agonizingly slow. She couldn't escape the guilt that gnawed at her every time she visited him in the hospital. She visited him every day as Elena, his devoted fiancée—her smiles carefully measured, her words soft and unobtrusive. But each time she sat beside him, each time she searched his face for recognition, there was no trace of connection. Only silence, punctuated by the occasional flicker of pain in his distant gaze.
It wasn't the poisoned blade that had severed the bond between them—it was his memories that had come flooding back. Memories of Luelle, the girl that saved his life. Memories of the girl who had disappeared from his life thirteen years ago. Luelle. The moment he'd whispered her name in the haze of fever, everything had changed. The grief that came with those memories made him put up a wall she couldn't scale. Not as Elena his fake fiancé.
She turned away from the window, her hands falling to her sides as she walked back to the desk. The reports Charles had gathered lay scattered across the surface, and she focused on them now, forcing herself to think about something else—something she could control. The attacker had been found by her operatives, tracked and detained before the Dominion could reach him. But the victory had been hollow. He hadn't given them anything worthwhile, only the cryptic phrase: 'They will come again. They will rule.'
Her fingers brushed the edge of the closest report, her jaw tightening as she scanned the pages. The assassin was nothing more than a pawn in a much larger game—a game she still couldn't fully see. Whoever had sent him didn't care about his success. His death meant nothing to them. What mattered was the chaos he'd left in his wake, the ripple effect his actions had created.
"They'll come again," she murmured to herself, the words echoing in her thoughts. "But they won't win."