Elena Harper straightened her blazer as dawn light filtered through the courthouse windows, the weight of five years pressing against her shoulders. The bar association hearing room smelled of polished wood and stale ambition—the same as the Dalton nightmare. She'd been twenty-two then, fresh out of law school, trusting a silver-tongued executive who promised her secrecy on "minor" fraud. Next morning, forged documents appeared in her bag, his testimony painting her as the tamperer. Colleagues drifted away, Victor pulled strings for exoneration, but the scar lingered. Trust? A luxury for fools. Her mother had taught that lesson too—vanished when Elena was ten, leaving only notes and silence.
Mia's voice crackled through her earpiece. "Board's loaded with Vic's plants. Dalton file timestamps faked—here's the metadata counter." Elena's eyes flicked to the panel: stern faces, Vic's leaks spread across their tablets.
"Counselor Harper," the chairwoman intoned, "this complaint alleges ethics breaches in Dalton v. State. Planted evidence? Convenient timing with Reyes."
Elena met their gaze, voice steel. "Fabricated. Dalton framed me to dodge charges—court records prove it. The recent unsealing? Digital hack, IP traced to entertainment agencies." Mia fed live: Vic Lang's VPN slip.
Her phone buzzed—anonymous text. "Fight like hell. -JR." Julian. A crack in her frost warmed her chest despite herself.
Netizens live-tweeted:
"Harper owning it! #StandWithElena"
"Vic puppet board crumbling? #DisbarmentFail"
"Reyes texting her? Plot twist! #ReyesHarperOTP"
The chairwoman finally relented. "Cleared—provisionally. Watch your step, Ms. Harper."
Elena exhaled, Victor's relieved grunt buzzing in her ear. Victory was bitter; Dalton's ghost wasn't done with her yet.
---
Across town, Julian Reyes faced his own execution squad in the agency boardroom. Ethan at his flank, executives loomed like vultures, termination papers ready.
"Leaks are toxic. Abuse narrative sticks—fans fleeing," one intoned.
Julian's jaw ticked. "Deepfakes. Vic Lang's playbook. Check this." He slid Ethan's decrypted logs across the table: Vic bribed his stylist for gala access, planted the "threat" photo. "Old grudge. Trying to tank me."
Execs exchanged skeptical glances. "Proof?"
"Coming." Julian rose for the presser outside, flashes blinding. Reporters bayed: "Abuse true? Harper your shield?"
"Circus," he clipped. "Truth outs. Watch." No more. But as he turned, Elena's firm SUV idled curbside—Mia waving files. Paps swarmed. Headlines erupted: "#ReyesSavesLawyer—Hero or Hype?"
---
Victor's mandate hit Elena's inbox mid-escape: Joint safehouse press op. 2 PM. Control narrative or agency drops you both. The "safehouse"—discreet, pap-proofed condo—loomed like a cage.
She arrived to find Julian already there, sleeves rolled, scanning feeds. Ethan coordinated security; Mia unpacked projectors. Tension hung thick.
"Survived the grill?" he asked, handing her water. Concern flickered genuine.
"Barely." She sidestepped his gaze, heat prickling. "This PR stunt? Using me?"
His eyes flashed. "Using? You think I'd drag you into headlines for clicks?" His voice rose as he stepped close. "I'm fighting fire—Vic's torching us both."
She shoved the Dalton metadata at him. "Then prove it. Not just words."
Proximity ignited. Chests nearly brushed, breaths syncing. "Actions, Harper. Like this." He shielded the dossier as a window rattled—paps breaching perimeter. One shoved through; Julian yanked her back, arm firm around her waist. Flashes popped wildly. Inches apart, lips hovered—electric, inevitable—
Ethan barked: "Inside! Now!"
The moment shattered. But the spark lingered.
Netizens detonated:
"DID THEY KISS? #ReyesHarperKiss"
"PR gold or real heat? Ship sailing!"
"Distraction from crimes? Wake up."
---
Vic Lang & Sophia's Venom
Vic Lang paced his penthouse suite, bourbon sloshing. Sophia Vance lounged on silk sheets, nails tapping her phone. Julian's stolen spotlight years ago had gutted Vic. Now Sophia craved rebirth via victim tears.
"Heard the hearing flopped," she purred. "Harper's tough."
Vic smirked, queuing files. Stolen therapy notes—childhood abuse twisted into a narrative: Julian unstable abuser. "Leak ties to Elena's 'instability.'"
Sophia leaned forward. "And the witness?"
"Paid actor. 'Saw Julian snap firsthand.'" Vic hit record: hoax pregnancy test for her "sympathy" album. "Fans eat sob stories."
Text to burner: "Public heroes? Burn them."
Sophia traced his jaw. "My spotlight back. Yours too."
---
Safehouse dimmed to candlelight, screens flickering Vic's office feed. Elena and Julian side-by-side, shoulders touching.
"Therapy?" she asked softly. "Leaks say… dark."
He tensed, then exhaled. "Dad's fists. Stage fright buried it. Donate to shelters—ironic, huh?" Vulnerability raw. "Vic twists truth like he did my start."
Elena swallowed. "Mom left at ten. Dalton echoed—trust snapped." Hand found his. Foreheads touched; worlds blurred. Lips grazed—
Mia's breach alert blared. "Paps at gate! Death threat slipped through mail."
Julian pulled her close. "Not without a fight."
Screens showed their "witness" prepped—paid face smiling. Mid-feed, "witness" glitched on Vic's monitor—deepfake slip. Vic's phone rang. Elena's buzzed: "My gift, Harper. Next: your mother's alive… and watching."
Her blood ran cold. Mom? The deepest wound ripped open.
Julian's vow burned against it. "Whatever this is—we end it."
But Vic's web tightened. Who was the watcher?
---