The flash of the camera lights burned through the tinted glass of the penthouse suite, but Elara Dane didn't flinch. She posed with muscle memory, lips slightly parted, chin tilted just so. Her body was statuesque in a satin gown that clung to her like water, the emerald green fabric perfectly offsetting her bronze-toned skin and jet-black hair.
"Beautiful, Elara. One more!" her photographer chirped, circling her like a moth to flame.
She held the pose. She always did.
But inside, she was miles away—somewhere far from the marble floors and designer perfume. Somewhere she wasn't a mannequin painted in luxury.
As the final shutter clicked, Elara relaxed and turned away. Her assistant, Cora Langley, rushed forward with a silk robe and a smile.
"You killed it, babe," Cora said, draping the robe over Elara's shoulders. "You're on every billboard in Milan. Paris wants you for Fashion Week. The world's in love with you."
Elara offered a tired smile. "The world loves illusions."
Cora didn't press. She never did.
Elara walked barefoot across the cold floor to the balcony, looking down at the blinking city below. From up here, everything looked perfect—flawless and far away. Just like her life.
She had clawed her way up from nothing. From a leaking shack in Makoko where she once shared a single mattress with two siblings and a mother who died before thirty. Modeling had been her salvation. Her face—flawless. Her figure—divine. The world had fallen at her feet.
But the price? She had married the devil in a decorated uniform.
---
The click of the suite's door unlocking made her spine stiffen.
He never knocked.
She turned slowly as General Damon Kessler stepped in, flanked by his ever-present shadow: Sergeant Axel Ward. Damon's eyes were as cold and piercing as always—ice-blue, calculating, unreadable. His uniform was pristine, every medal gleaming with practiced pride. He looked like a war god carved in marble.
"Elara," he said coolly.
"Damon," she replied, equally calm.
Behind him, Axel stood tall—muscular, alert, with a presence that crackled with danger. His jaw was square, and his eyes missed nothing. Unlike Damon, he didn't pretend to be emotionless. His stare could peel skin.
Damon's eyes swept her in that familiar, possessive way. "You're not attending tonight's reception."
It wasn't a question.
Elara's brows lifted. "I wasn't invited."
"You're my wife. You're always invited."
"To be shown off?" she snapped. "Like another medal?"
Axel shifted but didn't speak. Damon's face remained stone.
"You're needed. Wear the gold dress. Be on my arm. Smile."
She took a slow step forward. "And if I don't?"
He studied her. "Don't forget who paid for your freedom. Or who can take it back."
And then he left, the door closing behind him with an ominous finality.
---
Alone again, Elara sat at the edge of the bed and buried her face in her hands.
Her pulse pounded in her ears. She hated him. Hated the way he controlled her, owned her. Their marriage had been a strategic arrangement. Publicly perfect. Privately, a slow suffocation.
She stood, walked to the vanity, and opened a hidden drawer. Inside: two plane tickets. Cash. A passport with a different name.
Her escape.
Her heartbeat quickened.
Him—he was waiting. Her secret. Her only softness in a world of steel. He didn't wear medals or bark commands. He laughed with his eyes. He kissed her like she wasn't broken.
They were leaving tonight. No more gilded cages. No more Damon.
She looked at her reflection. "Tonight, I disappear."
---
Later that afternoon, Cora returned with fresh flowers and a cheery grin. They sipped wine on the balcony, their legs tangled in soft throws, pretending life was normal.
"I'm going to a wellness retreat tomorrow," Elara lied. "A week. No phones."
Cora's eyes flicked up. "Alone?"
Elara nodded. "I need space."
"Of course," Cora said, smiling too brightly. "You deserve peace."
Elara didn't see the flash of guilt that crossed her best friend's eyes. Didn't notice the subtle way Cora's fingers gripped her phone tighter.
---
Downstairs, in the hotel's private garage, Sergeant Axel Ward leaned against a black SUV, arms crossed.
He wasn't fooled.
He'd seen Elara's restlessness, the way she flinched when Damon entered the room. He didn't like her, but he respected her strength. A trapped bird, maybe. But dangerous when cornered.
When she passed him that evening, dressed plainly with a scarf around her head, Axel looked straight at her and said:
> "Be careful what you choose to run from, Mrs. Kessler. Not every escape leads to freedom."
Elara paused. Their eyes met. Then she walked away.
---
At 11:47 PM, Elara slipped into the alley behind the hotel.
The car was there. Her lover—her future—stood beside it.
He smiled when he saw her.
"You came," he breathed.
She ran to him, heart pounding, laughing through her tears. "Of course I—"
A shot rang out.
Elara screamed.
He dropped to the ground.
Blood.
More screaming.
She fell to her knees beside him, hands shaking, his blood soaking into her clothes.
"No—no, no, no—stay with me—"
Another shot.
She turned, eyes wide.
Axel.
Gun raised. Expression grim. "Orders."
"No!" she screamed. "Please! Don't—!"
Then—
A blinding light.
The earth trembled. The air turned thick and electric.
Elara gasped as something ripped through her body like fire.
She screamed—
—then everything went black.