We walked back into the ballroom, the heavy oak doors closing behind us.
The transition was jarring. One moment, we were in the cold, quiet terrace plotting a corporate takeover. The next, we were assaulted by the warmth, the music, and the scent of expensive perfume.
Elena's hand was firm on my arm. She wasn't trembling anymore. She was radiating a cold, dangerous confidence.
"There," she whispered, nodding toward the center of the room.
Victoria Sterling was dancing with a senator, but her eyes were on us. She saw us return. She saw the way Elena held herself—not like a victim, but like a queen returning to her court.
And she saw me.
I met her gaze. I didn't smile. I just nodded, a silent acknowledgment of the intel she had leaked. Message received.
But my mind was still in the past, replaying the moment I had first walked into Sofia's office.
Flashback: Aldridge Holdings, 4 PM.
