Paris did not feel real.
It felt staged.
Like a city designed specifically for the kind of elegance Elias would appreciate—beautiful, public, impossible to control completely.
Lyra stood in the hotel room staring at the Eiffel Tower through the window, arms folded tightly across her chest.
"He chose this on purpose," she said.
Aurelian, behind her, adjusted his cufflinks. "Yes."
"Romantic city. Artistic gala. International attention."
"He wants the setting to contrast the tension," Aurelian replied.
Lyra exhaled slowly. "He's dramatic."
"He's theatrical," Aurelian corrected. "There's a difference."
---
Security had tripled.
Private guards. Route planning. Surveillance sweeps.
And still, Lyra felt like none of it mattered.
Because Elias didn't need to be close to be present.
He only needed to be watching.
Her phone buzzed.
Right on cue.
You look smaller in Paris.
Lyra's jaw tightened.
She didn't reply.
She handed the phone to Aurelian.
He read it, expression unreadable.
"He's testing your confidence in a new environment," he said.
Lyra nodded once. "Then I won't give him doubt to feed on."
---
The Virelli Gala was everything the invitation promised.
Gold lighting. Silk gowns. Cameras. Voices layered in different languages. Artists, investors, moguls moving through the room like living currency.
Lyra stepped inside and felt the weight of visibility settle over her shoulders.
Aurelian stayed close—but not too close.
They had agreed on that.
She needed to look independent.
Not protected.
Because Elias would notice the difference.
---
Whispers followed her.
Not hostile.
Curious.
Her name had traveled ahead of her.
She could feel eyes recognizing her from headlines, from social media, from the story that had grown larger than she wanted.
And somewhere in that crowd—
She knew he was there.
Watching.
---
Minutes before her performance, her phone vibrated.
A photo.
Taken from the balcony above the main hall.
Of her standing near the stage entrance.
The caption read:
The stage suits you.
Lyra stared at it for a moment.
Then she did something unexpected.
She smiled.
Not nervously.
Not angrily.
Genuinely.
She typed back.
Watch closely.
---
When she stepped onto the stage, the lights blinded her just enough to make the crowd disappear.
For the first time since this began—
She didn't feel watched.
She felt present.
The music started.
She sang.
Not for Elias.
Not for the audience.
For herself.
Her voice filled the grand hall with something raw, controlled, powerful. Emotion without panic. Strength without force.
In the back of the room, Aurelian watched her with quiet intensity.
Because Elias had miscalculated something critical.
Lyra didn't need fear to be compelling.
She was compelling without it.
---
From the balcony, Elias Venn leaned slightly on the railing.
He wasn't smiling.
He wasn't recording.
He was listening.
And for the first time since this began—
He felt something he hadn't expected.
Disruption.
Not of her.
Of himself.
---
Lyra finished the song to thunderous applause.
She didn't bow.
She didn't rush off.
She stood there for a moment longer than necessary.
Then looked directly toward the balcony.
She couldn't see him clearly.
But she knew.
And she held the gaze anyway.
A silent message.
I see you too.
---
Her phone buzzed as she stepped off stage.
One message.
Interesting.
Lyra didn't respond.
Because she didn't need to.
For the first time—
Elias wasn't directing the scene.
He was reacting to it.