The note's three words echoed in the silent closet, a ghost's scream from the past.
Don't trust Huo.
Suddenly, the soft chime of the elevator arriving at the penthouse sliced through the quiet. Footsteps. Steady, masculine, approaching her suite.
Panic, cold and sharp, seized Elara. She scrambled on the plush carpet, her fingers fumbling with the tiny, folded paper. She shoved it back into the hairpin's secret compartment, snapped the false bottom shut, and slid the wooden box deep behind a row of unworn shoes just as the door to her bedroom swished open.
It was Iris, her personal assistant, holding a garment bag.
"Mr. Huo sent me with your dress for the gala, Ms. Meng. He said the midnight blue would perfectly complement the necklace."
Elara's heart hammered, but she rose with fluid grace, her face a mask of calm. Iris was Kian's employee, another pair of eyes in this gilded cage.
"Thank you, Iris. Please, just leave it on the bed."
As the door closed, Elara leaned against the wall, her composure cracking for a moment. The close call left a bitter taste in her mouth.
She was a prisoner, and she hadn't even realized the true nature of her prison until now. The official story—a tragic car accident, a promise Kian made to her dying mother to look after her—all of it was a lie.
Every act of kindness, every lavish gift, every possessive touch had been a meticulously placed bar on her cage. He hadn't rescued her; he had acquired her.
Her fear hardened into cold resolve. The gala was no longer a chore.
It was a hunting ground.
When Kian arrived to escort her, she was the image of perfection. The midnight blue dress flowed around her, the diamond necklace at her throat a brilliant, cold star.
He stopped, his gaze lingering. "You look just like her tonight," he said, his voice softer than usual, laced with an unreadable nostalgia.
The comment sent a chill down her spine. Was he referring to her mother? Was it a compliment, or a reminder of who she was meant to replace?
"I aim to please," she replied, her voice cool and even.
He didn't seem to notice her coolness. As he held the door, he added, "It's important you make a good impression tonight as my fiancée. The board is watching."
The word 'fiancée' hung in the air, a formal, binding term he used for public consumption. She felt an internal flinch but placed her hand on his arm, a perfect portrait of devotion.
Just a role to play.
The Sterling Dynamics gala was held in a soaring atrium where holographic art installations shimmered in the air and a string quartet played a tense, minimalist melody. She felt the breathtaking luxury and cutthroat ambition permeating every corner of the room.
Elara played her part flawlessly, but her mind was a whirlwind of calculations. She needed information, a crack in the wall of secrets Kian had built around her.
Her chance came when Kian was cornered by a senator. She excused herself, drifting towards the balcony where she spotted Director Li, a portly man in a sweating tuxedo who nervously adjusted his already-perfect tie.
"A magnificent party, Director," Elara began, her smile disarming.
Li beamed, sweat glistening on his forehead. "Ms. Meng! We try. We're more than a tech firm, we believe in culture."
"The art is stunning," she said, before adding with feigned innocence, "It reminds me of a piece my mother was developing. A ballet she called her 'Phoenix Dance'."
Li's smile faltered. He tugged at his tie. "The Phoenix Dance? That's… an odd coincidence. Our flagship R&D initiative is codenamed 'Project Phoenix'."
Elara's heart leaped, but she kept her voice light. "Project Phoenix? It sounds so grand. What does it do?"
He chuckled, a forced sound. "Ah, trade secrets! Let's just say it's about optimizing human capital."
He lowered his voice, leaning in. "Perfecting potential."
Elara pressed gently, her eyes wide with curiosity. "Perfecting potential? That sounds like something for artists, like my mother was."
This seemed to inflate his chest. "Exactly! Artists, scientists, leaders… We're not just building better software, Ms. Meng," he boasted, his voice thick with self-importance.
"We're building better assets. The kind that don't talk back."
Assets.
The same word Kian had used.
The blood in her veins ran cold.
Before she could respond, Kian was at her side, his presence an immediate shift in the atmosphere around them. Her muscles tensed. His hand rested on the small of her back, a possessive, grounding weight.
"Darling. I trust Director Li isn't boring my fiancée with corporate jargon."
His use of the word was deliberate, a public brand of ownership. Director Li stammered an apology, shrinking visibly.
As Kian led her away, his grip firm, Elara's mind raced, connecting the terrible dots.
Project Phoenix.
The original architects.
Better assets.
Her mother wasn't just a dancer; she was a blueprint.
And Kian hadn't just lied about her death. He was part of the system that consumed her.
The cage wasn't just gilded.
It was built on her mother's bones.