Shattered vows, she built her empire

‎(Lena's POV)

‎

‎Three years.

‎That's how long it took to bury the name Lena Cruz and become someone new.

‎

‎The woman who stepped out of the car tonight wasn't the naïve intern who once believed in love, loyalty, or fairy tales. She was Elena Vale, fashion's newest obsession - mysterious, untouchable, and finally in control.

‎

‎And tonight, she was walking straight into the lion's den.

‎

‎The ballroom of the Empire Grand glittered with gold and ambition. Champagne towers sparkled under chandeliers, diamonds flashed against silk gowns, and New York's elite floated through the air like perfume. The annual Knight & Co. Winter Gala - a celebration of fashion, power, and hypocrisy.

‎

‎My heels clicked softly on the marble as I entered, chin high, my black gown sweeping the floor like liquid night. Every movement was calculated - confident, graceful, deliberate. A far cry from the trembling intern who once stood here, sketchbook clutched like a lifeline.

‎

‎A camera flashed. Then another.

‎

‎"Elena Vale! Over here!"

‎

‎"Elena, Vogue wants a statement!"

‎

‎"Elena, is it true you turned down Dior?"

‎

‎Their questions sliced through the air. I smiled - slow, composed, the kind of smile that said I owed the world nothing. "No comments tonight," I said lightly, brushing past them. "I'm just here to enjoy the show."

‎

‎The truth was, I hadn't come to enjoy anything.

‎I came to watch him fall.

‎

‎Then I saw him.

‎

‎Adrian Knight.

‎

‎The name still burned like acid under my tongue.

‎

‎He stood at the top of the grand staircase, tall and infuriatingly composed in a black tuxedo. His dark hair was swept back, his jaw dusted with stubble, and his grey eyes - those cold, calculating eyes - swept the room like a predator scanning its prey.

‎

‎Once upon a time, those eyes used to look at me like I was his muse.

‎Now, I was a stranger wearing another woman's face.

‎

‎My breath caught before I could stop it. I told myself it was hatred. Just hatred. But hatred shouldn't make your heart race.

‎

‎"Miss Vale," a smooth voice said beside me. A reporter, smiling nervously. "You've been called the future of couture. Rumor has it Knight & Co. wants to collaborate with you. Any truth to that?"

‎

‎I tilted my head toward the stage where Adrian was giving a speech, his baritone filling the hall. "Knight & Co.?" I echoed softly. "Let's just say... fate has a twisted sense of humor."

‎

‎The reporter blinked, confused, but I was already moving away.

‎

‎Onstage, Adrian's speech rolled on - polished, confident, rehearsed. He talked about legacy, innovation, and the future of fashion. I almost laughed. The man talking about originality was the same one who had stolen my designs and presented them as his own to save his dying company.

‎

‎The betrayal had destroyed me.

‎The industry turned its back.

‎I disappeared.

‎

‎But I hadn't stayed gone.

‎

‎For three years, I rebuilt myself in the shadows - designing under a pseudonym, studying markets, building connections. Now, the world worshipped Elena Vale, not knowing she was the ghost of the woman they had once mocked.

‎

‎And now, the empire that had buried me was crumbling. I could smell the desperation beneath the champagne. Knight & Co. was bleeding money; their last few collections were lifeless.

‎

‎That was why I was here.

‎To watch him squirm.

‎To take back the power he stole.

‎

‎As the applause faded, he stepped down from the stage, shaking hands, charming investors, pretending not to drown. And then - as if pulled by fate - his eyes found mine across the room.

‎

‎It was only for a second.

‎

‎But in that second, the world fell away.

‎

‎The clink of glasses faded, the chatter dimmed, the orchestra's notes blurred into silence. There was just him... and me.

‎

‎A flicker of confusion crossed his face. He looked again, harder this time, like a man staring into a mirror and seeing a ghost behind his reflection.

‎

‎My stomach tightened.

‎

‎No. He couldn't recognize me. The hair color was different - sleek black now instead of chestnut. My makeup sculpted sharper lines, my style worlds apart from the timid girl he knew.

‎

‎He couldn't know.

‎

‎But still, his gaze stayed locked on mine. Intense. Searching.

‎

‎I turned away before I could drown in it.

‎

‎"Miss Vale," a deep voice said behind me - unfamiliar, but the tone sent ice through my veins.

‎

‎I turned slowly.

‎

‎A man in a crisp navy suit stood there - Marcus Lin, billionaire investor and the silent backer who had helped fund my rise. "You're trembling," he murmured, his gaze flicking to Adrian across the room. "Do you want to leave?"

‎

‎I steadied my breath. "Not yet."

‎

‎Marcus followed my gaze, then smiled faintly. "You know him, don't you?"

‎

‎"I used to." My voice was low, measured. "Before he learned how to destroy people for profit."

‎

‎Marcus's expression softened. "Then tonight is poetic justice. You're the future, Elena. He's the past."

‎

‎I almost believed him. Almost.

‎

‎But the truth was, part of me wasn't here for justice.

‎I was here for closure.

‎

‎And closure, I knew, often looked a lot like revenge.

‎

‎The night blurred into soft jazz and hollow laughter. Adrian mingled through the crowd, but I could feel his gaze trailing me like a shadow. Every time I turned, I caught him watching. Studying. Trying to place me.

‎

‎Let him wonder. Let it drive him mad.

‎

‎As I sipped my champagne, Victoria Hale - Adrian's sleek, venomous PR director - approached with her trademark smirk. "Elena Vale," she purred. "The mysterious designer everyone's whispering about. You're even prettier in person."

‎

‎"Flattery?" I asked. "Or reconnaissance?"

‎

‎She laughed, the sound like broken glass. "Adrian has a good eye for talent. He'll want you on his team before the month is over."

‎

‎My stomach twisted. "I doubt that."

‎

‎"Oh, don't be so sure." She leaned closer, perfume choking the air. "Men like Adrian always circle back to beauty - even if it ruins them."

‎

‎I smiled. "Then I suppose I'll see him when he falls."

‎

‎Her smirk faltered just enough to make me satisfied. She walked away, heels sharp against marble.

‎

‎The night grew late. Cameras dimmed. Champagne fizzed low in the glasses. And still, I could feel him moving closer.

‎

‎I caught sight of him near the fountain display - tall, composed, unreadable. He spoke briefly to someone, then began to walk in my direction.

‎

‎Every step he took felt like a tremor in my bones.

‎

‎My pulse raced. I told myself it was adrenaline, not fear. Not longing.

‎

‎He stopped just a few feet away.

‎

‎"Elena Vale," he said. His voice was deeper than I remembered - roughened by years and mistakes. "I've been wanting to meet you."

‎

‎His smile was polite, but his eyes... his eyes were trying to solve a puzzle he couldn't name.

‎

‎I matched his stare. "I'm flattered, Mr. Knight. But I doubt you have room for newcomers in your empire."

‎

‎"On the contrary," he said softly. "My empire needs saving."

‎

‎A beat passed - heavy, charged.

‎

‎I tilted my head, letting my smile sharpen. "Then maybe it's time you let it fall."

‎

‎The air between us crackled - old history, buried pain, something neither of us could name. He looked like he wanted to say more, but a reporter called his name.

‎

‎He stepped back slightly, eyes never leaving mine. "We'll speak soon, Miss Vale."

‎

‎"I'm sure we will."

‎

‎He turned toward the crowd - but just before he disappeared into the throng, he glanced over his shoulder once more, as if his instincts whispered what his memory couldn't yet confirm.

‎

‎The orchestra swelled, the lights dimmed to golden twilight. Around us, the city pulsed in rhythm with my heartbeat.

‎

‎For the first time in three years, I had him exactly where I wanted him - intrigued, uncertain, chasing the ghost of a woman he destroyed.

‎

‎I lifted my champagne, savoring the victory.

‎

‎Then, across the ballroom, Adrian stopped mid-conversation. His gaze fixed on me again. Something flickered in his eyes - recognition, faint but rising.

‎

‎No.

‎

‎Not yet.

‎

‎He began walking toward me - through the crowd, deliberate, unstoppable.

‎

‎And as he drew closer, every carefully built wall around my heart began to tremble.

‎

‎

‎His voice cut through the noise, low and sure.

‎"Lena?" he said.

‎My glass slipped from my hand, shattering at my feet.

‎

‎

‎

‎

‎

‎

‎The morning after the gala felt like waking into a storm that hadn't passed.

‎

‎Rain drummed against the floor-to-ceiling windows of my penthouse office, turning the city below into a blur of silver and regret. My head throbbed-not from champagne, but from the night replaying in vicious fragments.

‎The woman. The designs. The name she gave.

‎

‎Elena Vale.

‎

‎I'd never heard of her before last night, yet somehow, she'd hijacked the entire event. Investors who'd come to toast Knight & Co.'s latest collection had left whispering her name. Not mine.

‎

‎And worse-somehow, her designs had ended up displayed under my company's label.

‎

‎"Sir," my assistant, Clara, said as she slipped into the office, holding her tablet like a shield. "The media's calling it sabotage. They're saying the designs weren't ours."

‎

‎I pinched the bridge of my nose. "They weren't." My voice came out rougher than I intended. "Find out who leaked them."

‎

‎She hesitated. "They're saying it might have been-her."

‎

‎I looked up sharply. "Elena Vale?"

‎

‎Clara nodded. "She disappeared after the event. No press interviews, no statement, nothing. Her name doesn't even exist in the registry of any design houses. It's like she came from nowhere."

‎

‎Nowhere.

‎

‎That word lingered, cold and familiar.

‎

‎I stood and walked toward the window, watching the skyline cut through the rain. There was something about her. The way she'd looked at me-steady, defiant. Like she'd been waiting for that moment.

‎

‎For me.

‎

‎I hated the thought that she might have succeeded where so many others had failed-making me feel something I'd long since buried.

‎

‎"Sir, the board meeting starts in ten minutes," Clara said carefully. "They'll want answers."

‎

‎"Let them wait," I muttered, my jaw tight. "And get me everything on Elena Vale. Everything."

‎

‎As soon as the door closed behind her, I loosened my tie and let out a low breath.

‎

‎The company had survived worse storms, but this one felt different. Personal. Targeted. Every instinct screamed that this wasn't random-not a rival designer, not a competitor's stunt. No. This was deliberate.

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‎And I couldn't shake the feeling that I knew her.

‎

‎

‎---

‎

‎By the time I reached the boardroom, the tension was thick enough to slice through.

‎

‎"Knight," one of the senior investors barked, slamming a stack of tabloids on the glass table. The headlines were merciless.

‎

‎"MYSTERY DESIGNER HUMILIATES KNIGHT & CO."

‎"ELENA VALE'S DESIGNS STUN THE INDUSTRY."

‎

‎"She used your runway as her launchpad," another investor snapped. "How did this happen?"

‎

‎I didn't answer immediately. I scanned the room-men and women who'd once begged to invest in my vision now looking at me like a sinking ship.

‎

‎"She's a ghost," I said finally. "Whoever she is, she's using us to get exposure. I'll handle it."

‎

‎"Handle it?" someone scoffed. "The investors are threatening to pull out. You'd better find her before she destroys what's left of your brand."

‎

‎I nodded once, clipped. "Meeting adjourned."

‎

‎Their murmurs followed me out of the room like smoke.

‎

‎

‎By noon, Clara returned with a file. "This is everything I could find on Elena Vale. Which isn't much."

‎

‎I opened it. The photos were grainy, likely pulled from the gala footage. In each one, she stood poised and self-assured-dark hair, sharp eyes, lips that dared the world to challenge her.

‎

‎Beautiful. Dangerous.

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‎There was also a résumé. Minimal background. No known previous employment. No digital footprint.

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‎But at the bottom, one small note caught my eye: Independent Designer. Specializes in conceptual couture under the pseudonym "L.C."

‎

‎L.C.

‎

‎My heart stalled.

‎

‎It couldn't be.

‎

‎I pressed the folder shut, but the letters burned behind my eyes. Five years hadn't erased them.

‎Neither had time, distance, nor betrayal.

‎

‎Lena Cruz.

‎

‎The name I'd buried. The woman I'd loved-and destroyed.

‎

‎"No," I muttered under my breath. It couldn't be her. Lena was gone. Vanished after the scandal that nearly ruined us both. I'd searched, once, long ago-until the guilt became too heavy.

‎

‎Still, something twisted deep in my chest. The way Elena had looked at me across that ballroom... the sharp breath she took when our eyes met... it hadn't been the gaze of a stranger.

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‎It had been recognition.

‎

‎

‎---

‎

‎"Adrian," a familiar voice cut through my thoughts.

‎

‎I turned. Victoria Hale stood in the doorway, composed as ever. Blond hair, red lips, eyes that missed nothing.

‎

‎"You look like you've seen a ghost," she said smoothly, crossing the room. "Don't tell me last night's mystery woman has you rattled."

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‎"I'm fine," I said flatly.

‎

‎She smirked. "Good. Because the board isn't. We need a new face for the brand-someone who can fix this. The press wants blood."

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‎I studied her for a long moment. Victoria had always been efficient, ruthless. The kind of woman who knew how to make empires-and destroy them.

‎

‎"Leave it to me," I said finally. "I'll handle her."

‎

‎Her brows lifted slightly. "Her?"

‎

‎"Elena Vale."

‎

‎Victoria's smile sharpened. "Ah. So she made an impression."

‎

‎I ignored the insinuation. "She's talented. Reckless. I want her found. Quietly."

‎

‎Victoria tilted her head. "Why? So you can crush her? Or hire her?"

‎

‎I met her gaze evenly. "Both."

‎

‎

‎That night, the city glittered under a velvet sky, indifferent to the chaos unraveling beneath it.

‎

‎I sat alone in my office, lights dimmed, scrolling through the gala footage frame by frame.

‎Every time she appeared on screen, something in me tightened-the graceful tilt of her head, the steady defiance in her expression.

‎

‎Then, for just one second, the camera caught her up close. Her eyes met the lens.

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‎And my world stilled.

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‎It was her.

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‎Older, sharper, but unmistakable.

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‎Lena Cruz.

‎

‎Alive. Back in my world.

‎And she'd just declared war.

‎

‎

‎---

‎

‎I leaned back, the air leaving my lungs in a slow, controlled exhale.

‎

‎Five years ago, I'd believed she'd betrayed me-sold my sketches to a rival brand, tarnished my name. I'd had proof, or so I thought.

‎But seeing her again... there was something different in her gaze. Not guilt. Not fear.

‎

‎Hatred. Cold, deliberate hatred.

‎

‎And maybe-pain.

‎

‎"Clara," I said into the intercom, my voice low. "Find a way to contact Elena Vale. Tell her I want to make her an offer."

‎

‎"An offer, sir?" she asked cautiously.

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‎"Yes," I said, eyes still fixed on the frozen image of Lena's face on the screen. "I want to sign her. Exclusively."

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‎"Under Knight & Co.?"

‎

‎"No." I smiled faintly, without warmth.

‎"Under me."

‎

‎

‎Outside, lightning flashed across the skyline.

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‎Inside, I felt the old fire I'd buried for years ignite once more-dangerous, consuming.

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‎If this were war, then so be it.

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‎I would bring her back into my world, on my terms.

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‎And this time, I wouldn't let her walk away.

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‎Not until I learned why she came back.

‎

‎Adrian decides to offer Lena an exclusive contract, unknowingly binding himself to the woman he once destroyed.

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‎

‎

‎

‎(Lena's POV)

‎

‎The morning after the gala had left me restless, the city outside my apartment window a blur of grey and silver rain. I could still feel the weight of Adrian Knight's gaze on me, slicing through the crowd like a knife.

‎

‎I poured myself another cup of coffee, bitter and black, my thoughts as dark as the liquid swirling in the cup. I told myself it was just business. Revenge, strategic and cold. That's why I returned to New York. Not for nostalgia. Not for him.

‎

‎I was here for control.

‎

‎And yet, I could not shake the image of his grey eyes-the way they had lingered on me at the gala, searching, questioning, almost remembering.

‎

‎I was no longer Lena Cruz.

‎I was Elena Vale.

‎A rising star in the fashion world, untouchable, untethered.

‎

‎Until the phone rang.

‎

‎A private number flashed across the screen. Hesitation gripped me, but curiosity won. I answered.

‎

‎"Miss Vale," Adrian's voice said, low, calm, and unnervingly smooth. "I hope I'm not interrupting."

‎

‎My pulse quickened. "That depends. Are you calling to apologize for the chaos at your gala, or to ask me to work for you?"

‎

‎There was a pause. Then:

‎"I want to hire you," he said, precisely. "Exclusively. For Knight & Co."

‎

‎I laughed, soft and hollow, letting the sound bounce off the walls. "Exclusively? That's bold. You barely know me."

‎

‎"I know enough," he said, steady. "Enough to recognize talent. Enough to know I can't build my next collection without you."

‎

‎The words, calm as they were, carried something else underneath-an edge I remembered. Authority. Command. The kind of control that had once made me melt and break at the same time.

‎

‎I poured the rest of my coffee down the sink. "I see. And what's in it for me, Mr. Knight?"

‎

‎A pause again, deliberate, measured. "Full creative control, a year-long contract, and access to every resource I can provide. You won't have to answer to anyone else. You'll have a studio, a team, funding-whatever you need."

‎

‎I could feel my hands clench around the phone. It was tempting. Too tempting. And he had no idea who I really was.

‎

‎"Let me guess," I said slowly. "You're desperate. Knight & Co. can't survive without my designs. And now, you want me inside your empire so I can... fix it?"

‎

‎"Yes," he said simply. No hesitation. No denial.

‎"Yes. And if you say no... you'll vanish, and I'll have to find someone else. But I prefer you."

‎

‎My stomach twisted. I hated him. I hated that he still had this power over me. That one sentence, casual and commanding, had my pulse racing.

‎

‎"I need time to think," I said finally, my voice steady despite the heat curling in my chest.

‎

‎"Of course," he replied. "But remember, Miss Vale... I won't wait forever."

‎

‎Click. The line went dead.

‎

‎I sank back against the chair, letting my mind whirl.

‎

‎This was my chance. My perfect, golden opportunity.

‎

‎To get close.

‎To see him again.

‎To make him pay.

‎

‎But the truth was, part of me wanted more than revenge.

‎

‎I hated that I admitted it to myself.

‎

‎

‎-

‎

‎By afternoon, I had made my decision. I would accept the contract.

‎

‎Not for love. Not for redemption. Not for him.

‎

‎I would accept it to reclaim everything he had taken from me, to infiltrate his empire, to rise to the top-and maybe, if I played my cards right, to dismantle him from the inside.

‎

‎The terms were simple on paper:

‎

‎One year of exclusive design rights.

‎

‎Full creative freedom under Knight & Co.'s banner.

‎

‎Confidentiality clause: No outside partnerships.

‎

‎Penalty clause: Breach of contract would require restitution equivalent to the value of my designs and brand influence.

‎

‎

‎I signed the preliminary agreement digitally, the sharp click of the mouse echoing like a gunshot in the quiet of my apartment.

‎

‎And then, I waited.

‎

‎

‎-

‎

‎The first day at Knight & Co. was worse than I imagined.

‎

‎I walked through the revolving doors of the corporate headquarters, heels clicking against the marble floor. Security scanned me, nodding politely, unaware of the history I carried under my skin. The receptionist gave me a cordial smile. Elena Vale, exclusive designer for Knight & Co. I repeated the words in my mind like a mantra.

‎

‎I passed the elevators and stepped into the suite of offices Adrian had carved out for me.

‎

‎And there he was.

‎

‎Taller than I remembered. Perfectly dressed. Immovable behind his massive mahogany desk. Grey eyes sharp, unreadable. Hair slightly disheveled from the morning wind, and that tension in his jaw-he was aware of the storm I brought with me.

‎

‎"Miss Vale," he said smoothly, voice carrying that old edge I had loved and loathed in equal measure.

‎

‎"Mr. Knight," I replied, curt, professional.

‎

‎For a heartbeat, neither of us moved. The air thickened, charged with the history we both carried but dared not speak.

‎

‎"Your office has been prepared," he said finally, gesturing toward the sleek, minimalist space. "Your team is waiting. You'll have full access to resources. Anything you need, you ask me directly."

‎

‎I nodded, hiding my pulse under cool composure. "Thank you."

‎

‎"And... Miss Vale?" He leaned forward, gaze piercing. "I expect results. Knight & Co. is counting on you."

‎

‎I smiled politely. "You have my full attention."

‎

‎Inside, my mind was a warzone. The contract was a cage. But it was my cage. And I intended to control every move within it.

‎

‎

‎-

‎

‎Weeks passed.

‎

‎I threw myself into the designs, sketches, fittings, and concept boards. Every seam, every fold, every line of fabric carried both my skill and my quiet, simmering revenge.

‎

‎Adrian hovered nearby, professional on the surface, but constantly watching. I caught glimpses of him-leaning against doorframes, arms crossed, lips pressing into thin lines. Observing. Evaluating. Obsessing.

‎

‎It thrilled me and terrified me in equal measure.

‎

‎He still had that pull over me-the same one that had broken me years ago. And I hated him for it.

‎

‎But he didn't know my secret. He didn't know the fire beneath my polished calm.

‎

‎Not yet.

‎

‎

‎

‎Then, one evening, after a particularly long day of fittings, he called me into his office.

‎

‎I entered, cautious. The room smelled faintly of his cologne-woodsy, sharp, impossibly familiar.

‎

‎He was standing by the window, rain sliding down the glass like tears. "You're good," he said softly. "Better than I expected."

‎

‎I raised an eyebrow. "I told you. You need me."

‎

‎He chuckled-a low, dangerous sound. "Perhaps. But talent like yours... It's wasted if it's only for revenge."

‎

‎My pulse quickened. "Talent?" I asked lightly. "Or genius?"

‎

‎"Both," he said, turning to face me. His eyes searched mine, as if trying to peel away the layers I'd carefully built. "But you're hiding something."

‎

‎I felt it then-a jolt, like lightning under my skin. He knew. He suspected.

‎

‎I straightened my back, voice steady. "Everyone hides something, Mr. Knight. That's how we survive in this industry."

‎

‎He smiled faintly, almost approvingly. "Careful, Elena. Secrets have a way of coming out."

‎

‎

‎---

‎

‎That night, I returned to my apartment, mind spinning.

‎

‎The contract was supposed to be my weapon, my shield. Instead, it felt like a leash. He was close, always watching, always analyzing. My revenge was supposed to be simple-make him vulnerable, show him he could never control me.

‎

‎But now, every glance, every word, every proximity between us was a battlefield... and I was not sure I was winning anymore.

‎

‎I sat on my balcony, looking out at the rain-slicked streets below, and for the first time, wondered:

‎

‎Could I play this game without losing myself?

‎

‎

‎---

‎

‎The next morning, an envelope appeared at my doorstep.

‎

‎No return address. No logo. Just a thick, heavy cardstock envelope with my name embossed: Elena Vale.

‎

‎I opened it carefully.

‎

‎Inside was a single piece of paper, typewritten:

‎

‎> "Meet me tonight. There are things you need to know-things he can't tell you."

‎

‎

‎

‎I froze.

‎My pulse hammered.

‎Adrenaline surged.

‎

‎Somewhere deep inside, a voice whispered: This is bigger than revenge.

‎

‎And I realized...

‎

‎I was stepping into a trap I couldn't see.

‎

‎The note had no signature, but I knew one thing for certain: the game had just begun-and I was already being played.

‎

‎

‎

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‎