She was seated before them like a relic on display - beautiful, defiant,gilded in suspicion.
Twelve masked elites stared down at her. The silence in the room pulsed.
Allegra Virelli didn't blink.
"You may speak", said the woman seated at the higher point of the chamber. Her voice was velvet and steel, cultured but merciless.
The woman's mask was full face-face - enameled black with gold filigree curling around the mouth and eyes. She was known only as The Chancellor.
Allegra's fingers curled against the armrest of her seat. "I want to know where I am. I want to call my lawyer. This is illegal".
The Chancellor tilted her head.
"You are not in a court of law, Miss Virelli", she said. "You are in the Court of Silence. We are not bound by civilian rules".
"This is kidnapping," Allegra snapped. "You can't just snatch people from their homes and hold them--"
"You're are not being held, "The Chancellor interrupted coolly. " You are on trial".
Allegra laughed, harsh and disbelieving. Trial? What kind of--what even is this place?"
A tall man in a gray mask leaned forward from the jury bench.
"This is where the ungovernable are governed," he said. "Where power is held accountable. Where the elite police their own."
"No cameras. No press. No lies," added a woman with a crimson-tipped mask. "Only truth."
Allegra's chest rose and fell rapidly.
They were serious.
These weren't people playing dress-up. This was some kind of underground judicial system—off the books, off the grid. A secret society's version of justice.
And they believed she'd killed Leo D'Aragon.
She looked across the room—and saw her.
Arabella Vexley.
The bitch hadn't changed a day. Still sleek, still poisonous. Her mask was minimalist—rose gold and razor-edged like the smile that curled beneath it.
Their eyes locked.
Arabella didn't blink.
Allegra's throat tightened.
She turned her attention to the one person who hadn't spoken yet.
Caspian Rhys stood near her, a black folder in hand, eyes scanning the room like he was memorizing every angle. His coat fit like armor. His hair was short, raven-dark, immaculately styled.
He looked like he'd been born to walk into war and win.
He looked dangerous.
And she needed him.
"I want a real lawyer," she said, not bothering to mask the panic bleeding into her tone.
Caspian's head turned. His eyes locked onto hers, cool and unreadable.
"I'm as real as you're going to get," he said flatly.
The Chancellor spoke again.
"The charge is murder," she said. "The evidence will be presented in stages. Each member of the Twelve may cross-examine. You will have opportunity to defend yourself. But understand—our process does not mirror the state. We answer only to those who matter."
"And if I don't comply?" Allegra asked coldly.
The Chancellor's lips curved faintly.
"Then you will be sentenced without trial. And I assure you, Miss Virelli… exile is the gentlest punishment we offer."
---
They gave her thirty minutes in a glass-walled conference room with Caspian.
It was more a chessboard than a legal chamber—marble floors, modern lighting, a single carafe of water untouched in the center.
Allegra sat across from him, arms crossed tightly over her chest. Her voice was sharp, defensive.
"I didn't kill him."
Caspian sat down slowly, as if the chair itself might betray him. He opened the black folder without looking at her.
"People who say that," he murmured, "usually did."
Allegra bristled. "I was engaged to Leo. Why would I—"
"Why does anyone?" he interrupted calmly. "Money. Fear. Love turned to hate. Maybe he knew something you didn't want known. Maybe he hit you. Maybe you hit him first."
"I didn't—"
"Stop," he said. Not loud. Not cruel. Just final.
His eyes lifted, grey and steady. There was no warmth in them. Only precision.
"You don't know what's happening here, so I'm going to explain it exactly once. These people—your peers, your friends, your rivals—have decided to strip the veneer off their world. They don't care what the law says. They care what they believe."
"And what do you believe?" she asked, her voice low.
Caspian leaned back.
"I believe that truth is irrelevant. Survival is what matters."
She stared at him.
"Why are you helping me?"
He didn't answer.
Instead, he slid a photograph across the table.
It was grainy, black-and-white. Allegra was standing in a hotel hallway—dressed in a black gown, clutching a small purse. Her expression was unreadable. The timestamp read: March 12 – 02:17 a.m.
"That's me leaving the charity gala," she said. "What about it?"
"Turn it over," Caspian said.
She did.
Another timestamp. March 12 – 02:23 a.m. She was entering a penthouse suite. Leo's.
The problem?
There was no third photograph. No exit. No time-stamped return.
The implication was clear.
"You entered Leo's suite six minutes after the gala ended," Caspian said. "You were not seen again until two hours later, when hotel security found you unconscious in the stairwell. Leo was dead on the floor. Single gunshot to the chest."
"I didn't shoot him," she whispered. "I—I don't remember anything after we argued."
"You argued?"
Her head snapped up.
She'd said too much.
Caspian watched her silently.
"I need all of it," he said. "The truth. Whether it paints you guilty or not. Because the only person who might keep you alive in there is me. And I don't take kindly to liars."
Allegra stood and walked to the glass wall. Her reflection stared back at her—pale, shaken, furious.
"There was something he said," she murmured. "At the gala. He gave a speech."
"I read the transcript," Caspian said. "Very polished. Full of politics and promises."
"Not that part," she said. "Before that. He whispered to me off-stage. He said—" She swallowed. "He said, 'You think they don't know, but they do. The truth always comes out, Allegra. Even for people like you.'"
Caspian leaned forward slightly.
"What was he talking about?"
Allegra turned to face him. "My mother."
---
The room chilled.
Caspian said nothing, but his knuckles went pale against the edge of the table.
"You're referring to Eveline D'Amour Virelli," he said finally. "Died fifteen years ago. Suicide."
Allegra flinched. "No one's supposed to know that name."
"I do," he said. "Because I prosecuted the case she was involved in."
She stared at him. "That's not possible. I was a child. My father buried everything. No court, no trial—"
"She was never tried," Caspian said. "But she was under investigation. For the poisoning death of a board member at your father's firm."
Allegra's lips parted. "No. No, that's—she wasn't—she wouldn't."
"She might have," Caspian said. "Or someone else did, and she took the fall. Either way, Leo was digging into it. He called two journalists three days before his death. One of them went missing. The other is currently under protection in Monaco."
Allegra's legs gave. She sank into the chair.
"All this time, I thought she just… broke," she whispered. "But he knew. Leo knew. He was trying to tell me something that night."
Caspian's eyes narrowed. "He was trying to warn you."
---
The door opened without warning.
A man in charcoal gray stepped in—broad, clean-shaven, eyes sharp. He handed Caspian a sealed envelope and left without a word.
Caspian opened it.
Inside was a letter on ivory paper. He read quickly. His jaw tightened.
"The court has received an anonymous witness statement," he said.
"From who?"
"It doesn't say," he muttered. "But it claims you bribed the coroner to fake Leo's autopsy."
Allegra's head snapped up. "What?"
"It also includes a statement that your fingerprints were found on the weapon. And that you've been in contact with someone named Sebastian Virelli—your cousin?"
She froze.
Sebastian. The family's black sheep. The one who always knew too much.
"I haven't spoken to him in years," she whispered.
Caspian stood.
"We need to get ahead of this," he said. "If the jury believes you manipulated evidence, they won't just convict you—they'll erase you."
"What does that mean?"
"It means you'll disappear. Like others before you. No body. No grave. Just gone."
Allegra stood too.
"So tell me," she said quietly, voice trembling, "do you believe I did it?"
Caspian looked at her. Really looked.
Then he turned away.
"I believe someone wants you buried. And that's all I need to.