"That was insane," Harper shrieked the moment Elena and Xander stepped into the tent. "Insanely good!"
Xander didn't respond. He reached for a cold drink, twisted the cap off, and dropped into a chair like the match had taken nothing out of him.
Elena didn't get the same luxury.
Praise came at her from every direction.
Paul nodded, clearly impressed.
"I didn't expect that," he admitted.
Daphne clapped enthusiastically.
"Oh, that girl has fire," she said.
Senator Ryan smiled, raising his glass.
"You were extraordinary."
Helen gushed, already retelling how epic the match was.
Even Victoria spoke.
"Well played," she said, her smile stiff, eyes cold. "Very well played."
Elena caught the tightness in her jaw, the restraint behind the words. Praise tasted bitter on Victoria's tongue.
The announcer's voice carried across the court, drawing attention back to the match.
"Next up—parents versus parents."
A ripple of excitement moved through the tent as Paul and Victoria stood, stretching, preparing. The Wilson parents stepped forward, smug and confident.
As much as Elena wanted to watch—to see how Victoria moved on the court, how Paul played beside her—she forced a polite smile instead.
"Excuse me," Elena said lightly. "I need to use the restroom."
No one questioned her.
All eyes were already on the court.
She slipped out of the tent, her expression calm, her pulse steady.
Her plan was simple.
While everyone was distracted, while the staff, guests, and family were focused on the match, she would sneak back to the house.
This was her window.
And she intended to use it.
She walked out of the tent and past the rows of parked cars, her pace unhurried, her face calm. To anyone watching, she looked like a guest stepping away for a breath of air. Nothing more. Nothing suspicious.
She stopped beside one of the drivers standing near the vehicles.
"Can you take me back to the main house?" she asked casually.
The driver nodded at once. "Of course, miss."
She slid into the back seat, closing the door softly behind her. As the car pulled away, Elena kept her gaze forward, her reflection faint in the tinted glass. Her heartbeat remained steady. This was not her first risk. It wouldn't be her last.
Ten minutes later, the car slowed in front of the main house.
"Thank you," she said, stepping out.
The door shut behind her. The car drove off.
Elena didn't move.
She stood there for a full five minutes, pretending to admire the estate while her eyes tracked every shadow, every movement. The house loomed ahead of her—grand, silent, deceptively peaceful. No footsteps. No cars. No voices.
Good.
If anyone came back early, she would hear them. She had maybe ten minutes. Fifteen, if she was lucky.
And she knew exactly where she was going.
Victoria's room.
Elena crossed the threshold of the house and slipped inside. The air felt different here. The distant sounds of the tennis match were gone, replaced by an unsettling stillness.
She moved quickly up the grand staircase, her hand grazing the banister, her steps light. She didn't know the exact layout of the upper floor, but instinct guided her. Victoria wouldn't tuck herself away somewhere obscure. She would want proximity.
Close enough to see everything. Close enough to intervene.
Close enough to intrude.
Just like she had done last night.
Elena passed one door. Then another.
And then she stopped.
A large set of double doors stood slightly apart from the rest. The kind of doors meant to announce importance.
She tried the handle.
Unlocked.
Elena glanced over her shoulder once, then slipped inside.
The room was vast with a touch of elegance.
Dark wood floors gleamed beneath a thick, pale rug. Heavy curtains framed the tall windows. Everything was perfectly arranged.
And right there, dominating the far wall, was a portrait of Victoria Armstrong.
Elena almost smiled.
The woman in the painting looked regal. Untouchable. Cold beauty frozen in time. Elena stepped closer, studying it.
So this was how Victoria saw herself.
Elena turned away and got to work.
She moved with precision, opening drawers quietly, scanning surfaces, lifting books, checking beneath them. She searched for a laptop. A tablet. A spare phone. Anything she could access. Anything she could hack open.
Nothing.
Five minutes passed.
Then another.
Frustration crept in, sharp and unwelcome.
Victoria was careful. That much was clear. No obvious electronics. No loose papers. No careless mistakes.
Elena exhaled slowly and turned toward the door.
And then she stopped.
One thought surfaced, uninvited but persistent.
Check under the bed.
She dropped to her knees, the rug soft beneath her palms, and leaned forward.
There it was.
A small box, tucked deep under the bed, half-hidden by shadow and dust.
Elena's breath caught.
She reached out and dragged it toward her. It scraped softly against the floor. The box was old, wooden, worn at the edges. Dust coated the lid.
It hadn't been touched in a long time.
And it was locked.
Elena didn't hesitate.
She pulled a small pin from her hair, her fingers steady as she worked it into the lock. A slight twist. A pause.
Click.
The sound was barely audible—but to Elena, it thundered.
She lifted the lid.
Inside, there was only one thing.
A single framed photograph.
Face down.
Her chest tightened.
Slowly, she reached in and picked it up. The frame felt heavier than it should have. Like it carried weight far beyond glass and wood.
She flipped it over.
And the world tilted.
Her heart stopped.
Her breath seized painfully in her throat.
Because staring back at her—smiling, alive, unmistakable—was her mother.
Her mother.
Young. Happy. Holding a little boy in her arms.
A boy with dark hair, sharp features, and familiar eyes.
Grey eyes.
Eyes Elena had seen across a tennis court.
Eyes she had watched narrow in irritation. Soften in focus. Darken in warning.
The boy looked exactly like Xander.
"What the hell—"
The thought barely formed before her body went cold.
What the hell was a picture of her mother doing in Victoria's room?
Why was she holding Xander?
Why did this picture exist at all?
Her mind raced, fragments slamming into each other.
Nothing fit.
Nothing made sense.
Her fingers trembled as she stared at the photo, a thousand questions tearing through her head at once.
"What the hell are you doing inside my room?"
A voice sliced through the silence.
Elena spun around.
Victoria stood in the doorway.
Her face was rigid with fury. Her eyes burning as they locked onto Elena—and then to the photograph in her hands.
The air between them thickened instantly.
Time slowed.
Elena straightened slowly, the photo still clutched in her grip, her pulse pounding violently now.
Victoria's gaze flicked to the box on the floor. The open lid.
Her lips parted.
And for the briefest second—
Fear flashed across her face.
Real fear.
Then it was gone.
Replaced by something far worse.