The Ones Who Watch

Beneath the glittering skyline of an uncharted city, behind the illusion of a luxury penthouse, lay a secret, a concealed architectural masterpiece. It was a cuvil, an opulent underground villa carved beneath stone and steel, hidden away from the scrutiny of light.

This place was nothing short of decadent. Velvet shadows and rich golden lighting danced along the marble floors. Walls lined with timeless art, Baroque originals and modern abstracts, drew the eye through the grand hall. It led into a cavernous lounge where the ceiling opened into a man-made cave, vast and elegant, with mini-chandeliers dangling like stars caught in crystal nets.

A swimming pool, carved into the cavern floor and lit with soft sapphire hues, glistened like a liquid gem. The air was cool, humming with soft classical music echoing through invisible speakers, fresh with the scent of eucalyptus and faint traces of imported lilac oil.

At the center of this untouched luxury, in the lap of leisure and secrecy, lay Neila.

Clad in a deep crimson swimsuit, the shade of seduction and blood, she reclined by the poolside. Her skin was a porcelain contrast to the red silk clinging to her figure, and her long, raven-dark hair was damp, cascading like spilled ink down her back. Her eyes, feline and ice-cold, were locked on the sixty-polegades screen embedded into the cave wall. The news played in perfect resolution, grainy surveillance footage, paparazzi headlines, and then a snapshot:

FASHION ICON JACOB EVERSON IN RUINS.

SOUTHERN INVESTORS CLOSE COLLABORATION WITH THE D.A MODA INSDUSTRY.

WILL THE UNSCRUPULOUS ADVOCATE SAVE THE BEAST EVERSON.

Her lips curled, not with joy, not with surprise, but with a deliciously venomous satisfaction. The smirk that played on her face was predatory, dark, and knowing.

She already knew this would come.

But she didn't know what was next.

A door hissed open behind her.

She didn't flinch. She simply took in a slow, sharp inhale as the tall silhouette of a man entered, Philip Rushman. He moved like a soldier: straight-backed, stern, and ever-watchful. His presence turned the air tenser, the luxury colder.

"Something's wrong," Neila murmured silkily without turning, her voice like velvet over steel.

Philip didn't answer. He stalked past her, eyes like cold metal locked on the hallway, his boots echoing against the stone as he vanished into his study.

She emerged from the pool, water trailing over her limbs like worship. With a towel slung lazily over her shoulders, she followed him, steps deliberate, sultry. When she reached him, he was already rifling through one of the locked drawers in his desk. His jaw was tight. His movements sharper than usual.

"You seem... tense, honey," she purred, massaging his shoulders with slow, calculated affection. "What is it? You saw something you didn't like?"

Philip slammed a file down onto the desk with the finality of a gavel. Neila's gaze dropped, her smirk unwavering.

"It's him," Philip growled. "Jacob. That bastard isn't lying down like we expected."

The file was thick, evidence, updates, pictures. Pages filled with government statements, screenshots of digital analysis, video forensics. He shoved it into her hands.

Neila's expression didn't shift. Instead, she perched herself lightly on the armrest of his chair, flipping through the contents with amused curiosity.

"I thought the video would be enough," she mused aloud. "The public believes it. His name's already halfway buried."

Philip didn't answer. He was watching her.

"But it's not just him anymore, is it?" he muttered, voice laced with loathing. "It's her."

"Her?"

"Norah Draven."

That name landed heavy in the air.

Philip's expression twisted. "She's been an obstacle for years. My enemies drop like dominos when she walks into a courtroom. She dismantled the underground's finest like it was nothing. My associates, our investments, gone. And now... she's with him."

Neila lifted her gaze slowly from the file. Her smirk deepened as she slid onto his lap with serpentine grace, wrapping her arms around his neck.

"Well then," she whispered, brushing her lips against his cheek, "that's perfect, isn't it?"

He looked at her, puzzled.

"If she's with him, that means she's in the way. And you, darling, you always remove obstacles so beautifully." Her nails grazed his jaw. "She loses this case... and then she disappears. Just like we planned for Jacob."

Philip didn't smile. But his silence, the flicker in his eye, told her he was already considering it.

What Neila didn't know, what no one knew, was that Norah Draven wasn't just a renowned lawyer or some inconvenient obstacle.

She was the very girl Neila had thought she'd killed years ago.

The same child she'd once poisoned to erase a threat from a future she didn't understand.

---

Meanwhile… in Eastern Vade

Far from the poisonous glamor of the underworld, across vast oceans and fields, there stood a land brimming with light.

Vade, a breathtaking marvel of nature and modernity, a country cloaked in harmony and grandeur. Its landscapes sprawled in endless green pastures, sapphire lakes, and white-capped mountains. The cities were glistening citadels of glass and innovation, but none quite as spectacular as Calthorpe, its prideful capital, a jewel ranked third among the world's most beautiful metropolises.

Nestled in its prestigious district of Downey-Celestia, surrounded by manicured gardens and patrolling guards, stood a villa of tranquil splendor. Beige walls bathed in sunlight, navy drapes hugging tall windows, caramel leather sofas resting on rich Persian rugs, the home was luxurious without being boastful.

Inside, the comforting aroma of fresh popcorn and melting marshmallows drifted lazily through the air.

In the living room, perched on the edge of a sofa, sat a little girl in a fluffy nightgown. Her blonde hair, tied in a messy bun, framed her small, expressive face, and her honey-colored eyes glowed with innocent curiosity. She was still, save for her blinking, watching the TV in wide-eyed silence.

"Hum... Aunt," she called out softly, not taking her gaze from the screen. "You should see this."

From the nearby kitchen, behind the open concept bar, a woman's voice floated cheerfully.

"What is it, princess?"

Alana, in her soft flannel pajamas, was pouring warm popcorn into a glass bowl. Her dark hair was tied up loosely, eyes bright and youthful, though a flicker of melancholy lingered behind her gaze.

But when she stepped into the living room and glanced at the screen—

Her heart stopped.

There, across the newsfeed, was her sister. Norah.

Flanked by men in suits, walking beside Jacob Everson, or as the world now called him, under some altered identity.

Alana's lips parted slightly. Her breath caught. That man. That man.

She knew that face.

Her hands trembled as she stepped closer.

"Damn…" she whispered.

"Aunt, are you okay?" the girl, Eloá, asked, tilting her head.

Alana blinked, trying to collect herself. "Y-Yes. Of course," she said, voice tighter than before. "Why don't we... change the channel? I made popcorn. Let's watch your favorite movie."

"No! I wanna see the news. I know this man! He's the fashion icon, right? His clothes are everywhere. Mommy works for him. How cool is that?" Eloá beamed.

Alana faltered.

"Really?" she murmured, trying to sound casual. "Okay. If you want to."

She turned back into the kitchen, clinging to the bowl like it anchored her. Her fingers clenched the glass. Inside, her thoughts spun.

Jake Elordi. Norah working with him.

The man who tore her sister's life apart.

What the hell was she doing back with him?

When she returned, she handed Eloá the bowl with a small smile, gently patting the child's head.

"Thanks," Eloá chirped. "Um… Aunt? Do you know Mr. Everson?"

Alana's expression flickered, just barely.

"Hm? I-I don't think so. He's... vaguely familiar, maybe."

"I see…" Eloá responded, still watching her carefully. "When Mom calls again, I'll ask her to introduce me to him!"

Alana's eyes widened. "Oh—uh, sure, honey pie." she said quickly. "Let's watch then, shall we?"

The girl cuddled up beside her, popcorn in hand, eyes glued to the screen.

Alana stared silently, her mind elsewhere.

So many pieces didn't add up.

So many years of silence.

So many buried truths.

'Sis... you've got a lot of explaining to do.' she thought quietly.