CHAPTER 2: ECHOES OF THE PHOENIX
"Don't trust Huo."
The words, scrawled on the yellowed paper, felt like a blast of winter air. It hit Elara just as the cold, heavy weight of Kian Huo's glittering diamond necklace settled around her neck.
A warning from the past. A shackle in the present.
Her gilded cage.
It wasn't just Kian's hands-on grip around her life, but something deeper, something reaching back into the shadows that had consumed her mother.
This quiet rebellion, once only a desperate fight for air, sharpened into a hunt.
Truth. She needed to find it.
She hid the note. When Kian asked if she liked the necklace, her lips stretched into their most dazzling, empty smile.
"It's beautiful," she said, the words hollow.
"It makes me feel... treasured."
The lie tasted like ash, but the easy satisfaction that softened his harsh features told Elara the mask held.
***
The next evening, at the glittering Sterling Dynamics gala, Elara stood by Kian's side, a silent, beautiful ornament. That's what he saw her as. That's what everyone saw.
His hand rested on the small of her back, a possessive weight that settled deep in her bones, a constant reminder of whose she was.
"Mr. Huo, you are the envy of every man here tonight," a portly director from a rival company slurred, his eyes lingering on Elara.
"A true masterpiece on your arm. It reminds me, of course, of her mother, Liana."
"Her final performance... what was it called? Ah, yes, the Dance of the Phoenix! Now that was a sight to behold."
"A tragedy she was taken from us so soon after."
The air around them thickened, a sudden chill permeating the elegant room.
Kian's fingers tightened, digging into her. Elara risked a glance. His face had gone still, a sudden, terrifying calm. His eyes, fixed on the director, gleamed with a cold, sharp promise of consequences.
A smile stretched his lips, thin and predatory.
"My fiancée and I do not dwell on tragedies of the past," Kian said, his voice dangerously smooth. "We prefer to look towards our... bright future."
The director paled, stammered an apology, and practically fled.
The message slammed into Elara. Liana Meng. Forbidden. The Phoenix Dance. A buried secret.
***
Later that night, as their limousine glided silently through the streets of Port Sterling, Elara decided it was time to push.
"That man tonight," she began, her voice casual, "he mentioned a dance my mother performed. The Phoenix Dance. I don't seem to remember it."
Kian, who had been staring out the window, turned to her. The streetlights illuminated his face, carving sharp shadows that turned his features to marble—beautiful, yes, but cold. Immovable.
"It was nothing," he said dismissively. "A minor performance. Forget about it."
"How can I?" Elara pressed, a hint of challenge in her tone. "He called it a masterpiece."
"It must have been something special for people to remember it after all these years."
He didn't answer. Instead, he reached out and traced the line of her jaw with his thumb, his touch sending an unwanted shiver down her spine.
"You are more special," he whispered, his eyes dark and intense.
"You are here. She is not. That is all that matters."
The finality in his voice slammed a door shut. But his reaction—the controlled rage, the possessive claim, the absolute command to forget—everything screamed.
This secret was vital. He would bury it, and anyone who stood in his way.
***
When they returned to the penthouse, Kian was called away for an urgent international business call.
This was it. The opportunity. His study—a forbidden fortress. And the most likely place for secrets.
Her heart pounding, Elara slipped inside.
The room was immaculate, dominated by a huge mahogany desk. Her eyes scanned the room, looking for anything out of place. Her gaze fell upon a small, personal safe concealed behind a bookshelf.
It was locked, of course.
Frustrated, she turned to his desk. She wouldn't have time to go through files. She opened the top drawer. Pens, business cards. A world devoid of warmth.
But tucked away at the back was something that didn't belong.
A small, velvet-covered journal.
Her hands trembling, she opened it. The handwriting was Kian's—sharp, decisive. Not business notes. Her mother.
***
*October 12th.*
*Liana performed tonight. The Phoenix. She was fire and light. But she told me she wants out. She said the 'Project' is becoming too dangerous. She doesn't understand. Leaving is the most dangerous thing she could do. I forbid it.*
*October 15th.*
*She's defying me. She says she has proof, something that could ruin my family and the other investors. I told her to burn it. I told her I would protect her, that she only needs to stay with me.*
***
The last entry was dated October 20th. The day before. Her mother's "accident."
A jolt went through her.
***
*She's gone too far. She plans to meet a journalist. My sister, Seraphina, insists we must intervene. She says Liana is a liability that must be... managed. I cannot lose her. I will not lose her.*
***
Elara's blood ran cold. He knew. He knew her mother was in danger, that she wanted out. His "protection" was a prison, just like hers.
And Seraphina... his sister wanted her mother "managed."
As she was about to close the journal, a faded, black-and-white photograph tucked into the back pocket fell out.
It was a picture of a group of people, formally dressed. She recognized her mother, looking young and radiant. And next to her, with his arm possessively around her waist, was a young, smiling Kian Huo.
But it was the man standing on her mother's other side that made Elara gasp. A handsome man with a familiar, gentle smile.
It was a younger version of Liam Feng's father.
He wasn't a rival who was destroyed by the Huos.
He was a partner.
He was part of it.