Chapter 4 - The Infiltration
The gala had been the launch; the next step was the architecture. We needed to know how the 'other woman'—whom we discovered through some deep-web reconnaissance was named Elena—was being held in the role.
Clara managed to mirror the security feeds of Julian’s corporate headquarters. For three days, we watched the life I used to live. I watched Julian have coffee with Elena. I watched them laugh at jokes I had written for him. I watched them play the parts of the perfect couple.
It was sickening. But it was also instructive.
I noticed a flicker in Elena's eyes—a moment of hesitation when Julian reached for her hand. It wasn't the look of a woman in love; it was the look of an actress waiting for her cue.
"She's scared," I murmured, leaning into the screen. "Look at the way she watches his hands. She’s terrified of him."
"If she's a pawn," Clara mused, "then we don't have to destroy her. We just have to make her talk."
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The plan was audacious: a gala, a masquerade, and a forced confrontation. We weren't just going to surprise him this time; we were going to force him to look at the truth until it shattered his carefully constructed glass house.
I prepared, not as the wife he discarded, but as the ghost he hadn't managed to exorcise. I gathered my strength, my memories, and my rage. The stage was set. The play was about to turn into a tragedy for the man who thought he could rewrite history.
