E L L A R A 

I scrub my hands until the sanitizer stings, but it doesn’t burn hot enough to erase the chill in my chest.

Adrian hasn’t come back. Good. I don’t think I could look at him without blurting something I’d regret.

I don’t need his guilt. I don’t need his help.

But I can’t stop remembering the way he looked at me in that cave. Like I was the only thing tethering him to shore. Like he’d burn the world just to keep me breathing.

And maybe that’s the problem.

Because I don’t want to be saved anymore.
I want to stand.

My phone buzzes. Asha’s voice on the other end: “They’ve summoned you to the main house. Family dinner.”

I nearly laugh. The battlefield just changed, but the war is the same.

Time to meet the family.

The Valcrosse estate is built to impress and to warn. A stone-and-glass monolith perched above Seraphine’s lantern-lit boardwalk, with marble steps that gleam like moonlight and guards who nod like statues passing judgment.

I don’t belong here.

But I climb anyway, spine straight, heels clicking too loud on the polished stone. The front doors swing open before I touch them. A butler gestures wordlessly toward the main dining room.

Inside, it’s all candlelight and crystal. The kind of warmth that doesn’t feel welcoming, just expensive. Shadows dance along linen-draped walls, and silver place settings gleam under low golden sconces. At least a dozen people are already seated with some I recognize from press photos, others from clipped introductions at safety briefings or budget meetings. Tonight, they all feel like strangers.

None of them look surprised to see me.

One woman whispers behind her wine glass. A man in a plum jacket lifts a brow. Another investor, I think his name is Lionel, he leans toward a colleague and mutters something I can’t quite catch. My name flickers through the air like a rumor on fire.

I square my shoulders.

This isn’t dinner. It’s a test.

Asha tried to reassure me before I left. “If Selene’s there, she’ll run interference. She’s good at soft landings.” I’m not counting on it.

I find my name card halfway down the table. Not at the head. Not at the foot. Pinned between power and obscurity.

I sit. I pour my own water. I pretend not to care who watches.

“Don’t drink the wine too fast. They’ll think you’re nervous.”

The voice is soft, amused. I glance up and there she is. Selene Valcrosse. Adrian’s sister. Taller than I expected, draped in emerald silk that gleams against her golden skin, with a smile that looks earned, not performed.

She lowers herself into the seat beside me with a grace that could be rehearsed, but her eyes say otherwise. They’re kind. Curious.

“I’ve been wanting to talk to you without Adrian hovering like a bodyguard with a stethoscope phobia.”

I choke on a laugh. “That obvious?”

She smirks. “Only those of us trained to decode Valcrosse men. They mistake control for comfort.” She sips her wine. “But you already know that.”

Her warmth is disarming. Dangerous, even. I should be guarded, but instead I find myself saying, “I didn’t expect anyone here to talk to me.”

Selene glances down the table at the cluster of older investors, then shrugs. “Half of them are here for optics. The other half are terrified of my mother. None of them matter as much as they think they do.”

I raise an eyebrow. “And you?”

She clinks her glass against mine. “I matter exactly as much as I choose to.”

There’s steel beneath her silk.

Before I can respond, she adds, “Mara’s hilarious, by the way. She’s been texting me memes about your ‘Valcrosse survival arc.’”

My lips part in shock. “You’ve been talking to my sister?”

“Of course,” she says easily. “You’re family now. Whether you like it or not.”

I feel him before I see him.

A shift in the air. A sharper silence. Like the room inhales.

Lucien Valcrosse sits two seats down, farther than Selene, but close enough to watch. And he is watching. Not in the loud, predatory way some men do. No, Lucien’s attention is surgical. Measured. The kind of gaze that could dissect you without drawing blood.

He lifts his wine glass. He doesn’t drink. Just tip it in my direction.

“Elara,” he says. Voice low. Smooth as ink. “They say you saved a boy’s life this week. Twice.”

“I did my job,” I reply, careful.

“Twice,” he repeats, smiling faintly. “Once at the lagoon. And once when you refused to spin it into marketing.”

My pulse ticks. “That wasn’t a rescue. That was survival.”

He tilts his head. “Same thing, isn’t it? Choosing the truth when the lie would pay better.”

I don’t answer. I don’t have to.

Lucien turns slightly toward me, resting his forearms on the table. “Adrian’s good at control. But he doesn’t always know when someone else is right.”

“That makes two of us,” I say before I can stop myself.

His lips twitch. “Fair point.”

Then he leans back, eyes glittering in the candlelight, and says nothing else. Just observe.

Measured. Curious. Not judging, but not quite trusting either.

A test. Subtle. I’ve passed… for now.

The door opens, and the entire table exhales.

Adrian steps in like he owns the oxygen. Black-on-black suit, open collar, jaw set just enough to look dangerous. His hair is slightly tousled, like he didn’t bother fixing it, or did, intentionally messy. Either way, it works. Of course it does.

His gaze skims the room, efficiently. Calculating.

Then it lands on me.

He doesn’t falter. Doesn’t smile. Just… see me. Like I’m a question he hasn’t answered yet.

Selene nudges my foot under the table. “Showtime,” she whispers.

Adrian moves down the length of the table, nodding once to a board member, murmuring something to Marina at the far end. Every movement is deliberate. Controlled. And somehow still coiled with tension.

When he reaches his chair, directly across from me, he pauses.

Just enough to make my skin prickle.

“Elara,” he says, voice even. Public voice. “Did you find the place without issue?”

I meet his eyes. “It was hard to miss. So much… presence.”

Something flickers across his face. Not quite amusement. Not quite warning.

Lucien watches us both like a director behind the camera.

Adrian sits, hands folding loosely on the table. “I’m glad you came.”

“Your assistant didn’t exactly make it optional.”

He exhales through his nose. Not a laugh, but not a denial either.

Dinner resumes around us, voices rising, silver clinking against porcelain but the air between us hums. Tight. Quiet.

Like we’re having an argument no one else can hear.

And neither of us has said a damn thing.

Dessert plates clink. Wine refills. Laughter rises in a lull between courses, the sound smoother now, like the table’s finally relaxed.

I don’t.

I’m too aware of Adrian across from me, too conscious of the way Lucien watches us both. Selene keeps the conversation light, asking someone down the line about a vineyard in Tuscany. It feels safe, for a moment.

Until I hear it.

A voice of low, male, clipped with money. Just behind me, angled toward another guest like I’m not meant to catch it.

“She’s still a risk,” he says. “Any doctor who makes headlines instead of progress is a liability. If they don’t fire her, the board will.”

The words hit like cold water.

I freeze. Fork halfway to my mouth. The laughter continues around me, oblivious. Selene’s still smiling. Lucien’s watching the investor with narrowed eyes.

I set my fork down. My hand shakes, just a little but I hide it under the tablecloth.

Adrian hasn’t moved.

But I can feel him.

I lift my eyes across the table, slowly, like I already know what I’ll find.

He’s staring straight at me.

Expression blank.

Unreadable.

The clink of cutlery fades.

The voices dull into background static.

All I can hear is that one sentence, looping like a blade stuck in my ribs.

She’s a liability.

I don’t look away from Adrian. I can’t.

He doesn’t blink. Doesn’t shift. His wine glass is untouched, his fingers relaxed on the stem like nothing has changed. Like he didn’t just hear the same thing I did.

But I know he did.

Because he’s looking at me like the decision has already been made.

My stomach coils. Not with shame, but fury.

I saved a life. I refused to perform it for cameras. I made this island safer in one week than their PR did in a decade. And yet all it takes is one whisper for them to turn?

For him to hesitate?

I reach for my glass. My hand is steady now.

Selene glances at me, then at Adrian. Something shifts in her posture, subtle but sharp. She knows something’s wrong.

Lucien, too. His gaze flicks between me and his brother, jaw tightening.

The investor behind me laughs. Casual. Like threats are just conversation starters in his world.

I raise my glass. Tilt it toward Adrian, just enough to make it a challenge.

“Cheers,” I say softly. “To survival.”

His jaw flexes. His fingers tighten on the stem.

But he doesn’t drink.

He just watches me.

And for the first time since the cave, I can’t tell if he’s going to fight for me or let me burn.