Chapter 5

The terminal went dead silent. The only sound was the hum of the fluorescent lights and the distant rumble of jet engines. Every camera, every microphone, every eye was fixed on Elianna.

Kiana saw her opening. She pressed a hand to her chest, her lower lip trembling. A single, perfectly timed tear rolled down her cheek. "Please," she whispered to the cameras, "don't ask her about that. Our family has suffered enough."

It was a masterful performance. It confirmed every rumor without saying a word. It painted Elianna as the villain and Kiana as the grieving victim.

Kiana reached out and grabbed Elianna's hand. Her grip was surprisingly strong, her nails digging into Elianna's skin. "Sister, just tell them you didn't mean it. Tell them you were young and foolish. Tell them you were used."

It was a trap. A verbal snare. If Elianna said yes, she admitted guilt. If she said no, she looked like an unrepentant monster.

Elianna snatched her hand back. "Don't touch me."

Another reporter, a man with a greedy look in his eye, stepped forward. "Ms. Baker, is it true that the secrets you leaked caused your adoptive father's company to go bankrupt? Is it true that his business partner committed suicide because of you?"

The question was a slap in the face. It was a lie, a twisted version of the truth that Solis PR had spun six years ago. But the worst was yet to come.

Kiana let out a shaky breath. "And the car accident... Daddy... my brother..." She trailed off, letting the implication hang in the air. She was connecting the espionage case to the deaths. She was telling the world that Elianna was a murderer.

The crowd's mood shifted. The curiosity turned to disgust. The disgust turned to anger.

"Monster!" someone shouted.

"How could she show her face here?" another voice hissed.

Elianna looked at Kiana. She saw the triumph gleaming in her eyes. She saw the satisfaction of a knife well-placed. Using the deaths of her father and brother-using the people Elianna loved more than life itself-as a prop for her little show.

Something inside Elianna snapped. It wasn't a hot rage. It was a cold, absolute stillness. The world narrowed down to Kiana's smug face.

Elianna didn't think. She didn't hesitate. Her arm moved on its own.

The crack of the slap echoed through the terminal. It was sharp, violent, and final.

Time stopped. The reporters froze. The cameras kept flashing, capturing the moment in high definition. Kiana stood frozen, her head turned to the side, a bright red handprint already blooming on her cheek.

Elianna's palm stung. The sensation grounded her. She looked at Kiana, who was slowly raising a hand to her face, her eyes wide with shock and genuine pain.

"That," Elianna said, her voice vibrating with barely contained fury, "was for my father."

Kiana's mouth fell open. A sob escaped her lips. The tears were real now, born of pain and humiliation. The reporters were shouting, the flashes were blinding, but Elianna only had eyes for the woman in front of her.

She raised her hand again. High. Palm open.

Kiana saw it. She let out a piercing scream, cowering away.