Elena sat at the kitchen island, her fingers wrapped around a mug of coffee she hadn't touched. The manor was quiet in the late Monday morning, the way it always was after a long night. Sunlight slanted through the windows, catching dust motes floating above the counter, and somewhere a clock ticked the only rhythm in the room.
Liam had insisted she take a few days off after the charity gala. Normally she would've welcomed the break. Instead, it had left her with nothing to distract her from everything Alexander had said.
Marta sat across from her, a newspaper spread open on the marble counter, reading glasses perched low on her nose. She turned a page with the slow deliberation of someone who had all the time in the world.
"You look exhausted," Marta said without looking up.
Elena blinked. "I'm fine."
"You said that an hour ago too." Marta's eyes lifted over the rim of her glasses. "And you still haven't touched that coffee."
She picked up the mug, felt the warmth through the ceramic, and took a sip. It had gone bitter. She set it down again.
"The gala kept me up late."
"Mmhmm." Marta turned another page. "And the phone call on the balcony kept you up later."
Elena's chest went tight. "You saw that?"
"It’s hard not to see things around here, dear. There’s not a lot of places to go without leaving the manor." Marta's voice was dry, warm. "You came in looking like someone told you the sky was falling. And the Master has been absent since your return yesterday afternoon."
Elena pressed her lips together. She didn't know how to answer that. Didn't know how to explain that she’d walked into a trap set before she ever set foot in this house. That her brother's debt was manufactured. That Liam Thorn had planned every step.
That she still didn't know what to do about it.
"You can tell me or not tell me," Marta said, folding a section of the paper. "But you can't sit in my kitchen looking like a ghost and expect me not to notice."
Elena almost smiled. "It's complicated."
"It usually is." Marta turned another page. "Complicated doesn't mean unsolvable. It just means you need more information."
Elena stared at the coffee. Alexander's words still rang in her ears. He planned it. The whole thing. Your brother's debt. Your company. You.
"What if the information makes everything worse?" she asked quietly.
Marta looked up, her eyes steady. "Then at least you're not pretending anymore. That counts for something."
The silence stretched. Elena traced the rim of the mug with her thumb, watching the light catch the ceramic glaze. Somewhere in the house, a floorboard creaked.
"You want my advice?" Marta asked.
"Always."
"You don't have to decide what to do today. Just don't make the mistake of deciding you have to do it by yourself." She turned another page of the newspaper, then stopped. Her eyes went wide. "Oh my."
Elena looked up. "What?"
Marta's face had gone from calm to delighted in the space of a breath. She lifted the newspaper, spun it around, and laid it flat on the counter between them.
And there they were.
A photograph, crisp and clear, taken at the gala. Elena in her deep blue gown, her hair swept up, a polite smile on her lips. Liam beside her, his hand resting at the small of her back, guiding her forward. They looked intimate. They looked like a couple. His blue suit looked pristine, his expression unreadable, his jaw sharp in the flash of the camera.
The headline read: Thorn Heir Spotted with Mystery Woman at Charity Gala.
Elena's stomach dropped.
"You're in the paper!" Marta's voice had jumped an octave. "Elena, you're in the society pages."
"That's—that's nothing. It's just a photo."
"Just a photo?" Marta smiled, tracing the edge of the page. "Look at you. You look stunning." She glanced at Liam. "And Mr. Thorn... my word. I've never seen him photographed looking quite so... at ease."
Elena leaned closer. "It's just good timing."
"Perhaps." Marta tilted the paper. "Though he does seem rather focused on making sure you're with him."
Elena looked at the picture. His hand rested lightly against the small of her back.
"He's guiding me through the crowd."
"I'm sure he is." Marta's smile widened just enough to tease. "It's a thoughtful photograph, that's all."
Heat crept up Elena's neck. "Marta."
"I'm not saying anything." She lifted a hand innocently. "Only that I've worked in this house a long time. Mr. Thorn isn't usually one for photographs, and he certainly isn't one for unnecessary gestures."
"It was a work event. I bid on art for him. That's all."
Marta nodded as if accepting the explanation. "Then that's all it is."
The hint of amusement in her voice said she wasn't entirely convinced.
Elena opened her mouth to argue, but her phone rang, cutting her off. The screen lit up with a name that made her breath catch.
Mom.
She stared at it for a beat, then another, the phone buzzing against the marble counter.
"You going to get that?" Marta asked.
Elena swallowed. Swiped to answer. "Hi, Mom."
"Elena!" Her mother's voice was bright, excited, a little breathless. "Darling, you're in the newspaper! I was reading my morning paper, and there you were, on page three! In a dress! With a man."
Elena closed her eyes. "Mom—"
"Is that your boss? Oh, honey, he's handsome. I can see why the photographer picked that picture."
"Mom, it's not—"
"Is he single? He looks single. Or is he taken? Not that it would matter, a man like that—"
"Mom." Elena pressed her fingers to her temple. "Mom, it was a charity gala for work."
"Well, whether he's your boss or not, you two certainly photograph well together."
Elena sighed. "It was one picture."
"A very nice picture." Her mother's voice carried a smile. "You looked... comfortable. I haven't seen you smile like that in a long time."
Elena felt her face warm. Across the counter, Marta had picked up the paper again, pretending to read while listening to every word.
"It was a business event. I bid on art. He paid me. End of story."
"If you say so, sweetheart."
Elena sighed. "You're impossible."
"Occupational hazard of being a mother." She chuckled. "Seeing you smiling in the paper made my morning."
Elena was ready to place her forhead to the table.
“He's very handsome," her mother continued. "And you looked beautiful. The whole neighborhood is going to see this. Mrs. Patterson from across the street has already called me twice."
"Of course she has."
"She wants to know if you're engaged."
"What?"
"I told her you probably weren't. But the photo is very romantic. You have to admit."
Elena rubbed her forehead. "There was nothing romantic about it. It was work. He's my employer. That's all."
"If you say so, darling." Her mother's voice was too light. "But I saved the clipping. I'm putting it on the fridge."
"Mom!"
"Right next to your college graduation photo. It'll look lovely."
Elena opened her mouth, closed it. There was no winning this argument. There never was.
"It was nice to see you in something other than work clothes," her mother added. "You looked happy."
She remembered the gala. The quiet conversations. The confidence with which he'd moved through the room. The ease she'd felt standing beside him.
Had any of it been real?
She'd felt something then. She didn't know what to call it.
"I have to go, Mom."
"Alright, alright. But call me this week. And bring that handsome boss of yours to dinner sometime."
"Goodbye, Mom."
"I love you, sweetheart."
"Love you too."
She hung up. Set the phone down. Let out a breath she hadn't realized she'd been holding.
Marta was watching her, the newspaper lying on the table in front of her. "Your mother thinks you're dating Mr. Thorn?"
"She thinks everyone is dating someone. It's her hobby."
Marta smiled. "And what do you think?"
Elena looked down at her coffee. "I think it's gone cold."
Marta's smiled. "I'll put a fresh pot on."
Elena looked back at the photograph.
Liam stood beside her wearing the same composed expression he'd worn through every negotiation she'd ever seen, yet the image captured something she'd never questioned before. Something she'd accepted without thinking.
She'd spent weeks learning the man she believed him to be.
Friday night, Alexander had suggested that man might never have existed.
Elena looked at her own face frozen in ink.
She looked happy.
She'd looked happy because she'd believed she understood the game she was playing.
Now she wasn't sure she understood any of it.
Alexander had planted the question, but she wasn't about to take his word for it, nor Liam's with whats been presented. She didn’t know who she could trust right now.
If the truth existed, she'd uncover it herself.