Chapter 15: The Game of Appearances
The ballroom was long empty, but the echoes of forced laughter and clinking glasses still haunted Elara's ears. She stood on the penthouse balcony, watching the first hints of dawn smear the city in bruised gold. Last night had been a performance, a flawless, agonizing, dazzling show of unity.
She hated how good they'd become at pretending.
Damien stepped onto the balcony, barefoot, his dress shirt unbuttoned and sleeves rolled up. A rare vulnerability clung to him in the early light. He looked more like a man than a monster in the quiet hours before the world demanded masks again.
"I hope you're not planning to jump," he said lightly, his voice rough with sleep and something unspoken.
Elara didn't look at him. "If I were, I'd have the decency to take you with me."
A smirk tugged at the edge of his mouth, but it didn't last. He walked to her side and placed something cold in her hand, a sleek black card embossed with a crescent moon and a name she hadn't heard in years.
Seren Holt.
She stiffened. "Where did you get this?"
"Someone slipped it to me last night. A woman with a scar across her collarbone. Said she knew your real name."
Elara's fingers curled around the card. Her throat tightened.
"She's Resistance," she said quietly. "Old guard. She disappeared when I was seventeen. They said she was dead."
Damien raised an eyebrow. "She isn't. And she wants to meet."
Elara looked at him then, eyes sharp. "Why tell me?"
"Because if she's Resistance, then she's your problem, and mine. I don't like surprises, Elara. I especially don't like ghosts from your past showing up during my public engagements."
"I didn't send her."
"Didn't you?"
His accusation hung between them like fog. It wasn't fair. But fairness was never a part of their arrangement.
"I'll meet her," Elara said. "Alone."
Damien stepped closer, his voice low. "You go without backup, you could get killed. Or worse, turned."
She met his gaze, unflinching. "If the Resistance wanted me dead, I'd already be a smear on that marble floor."
Damien didn't flinch either. "I'm coming with you."
Elara frowned. "You trust me that little?"
"I don't trust anyone that much."
Scene 2: The Veiled Reunion
The meeting place was an abandoned greenhouse on the outskirts of the city, long since overrun with ivy and fractured glass. Moonlight filtered through jagged holes in the ceiling, painting everything in silver.
Elara stepped through the shattered entrance first, her coat drawn tight, her nerves tighter. Damien followed a few paces behind, silent but watchful.
Seren Holt emerged from the shadows like a whisper given shape. Older than Elara remembered, but still sharp-eyed, still dangerous.
"You've grown up," she said, her voice like gravel and honey.
Elara swallowed. "You're supposed to be dead."
Seren smirked. "Aren't we all?"
They stared at each other for a long moment before Seren nodded at Damien.
"This him?"
Elara's voice was ice. "That's not relevant."
"Oh, but it is." Seren stepped closer. "Because if you're wearing the Voss name, you're already deeper than we planned."
Damien stepped forward. "You planned this?"
Elara raised a hand to stop him, but Seren answered anyway. "We had contingencies. You were never one of them."
"Good," he said coolly. "I don't like being part of anyone's plan but my own."
Seren laughed softly. "He's charming. Arrogant. Just like his father."
Elara flinched.
Seren turned to her. "You've made dangerous choices."
"I've made necessary ones."
"Same difference."
Elara tightened her grip on the card in her pocket. "Why now? Why come back?"
Seren's expression shifted, less soldier, more survivor.
"Because the Resistance isn't what you left. There's a fracture. One side wants peace. The other... wants war. And they're using your name as a banner."
"My name?"
"Your identity. Your bloodline. Your genetics."
Damien tensed. "What the hell does that mean?"
Seren looked at him, then Elara. "You haven't told him."
Elara's silence said everything.
Seren took a step forward. "They've replicated you, Elara. More than once. We don't know how many."
Elara's world swayed.
Damien caught her elbow instinctively, grounding her. But his voice was low with disbelief.
"Clones?"
Seren nodded. "The Arclight project failed. But someone else picked it up. Using your code."
Damien's eyes darkened. "Who?"
Seren shook her head. "We don't know. Yet."
Scene 3: Aftermath and Agitation
The ride back was silent. Elara stared out the window, her reflection ghostly in the glass. Damien's jaw ticked as he drove, knuckles white on the wheel.
Finally, he broke the silence. "You were part of the cloning program?"
Elara spoke without looking at him. "I was supposed to be the first successful prototype. My mother was a scientist—she sold her research to Arclight to protect me. It didn't work."
He said nothing for a while. Then, "Why hide it from me?"
She turned sharply. "You're Voss. I didn't trust you."
"But you married me."
"I had no choice."
He pulled the car over abruptly, tires crunching on gravel.
"Elara, we're past pretending this doesn't matter. You're in danger. If someone's replicating you, using your DNA, this isn't just political anymore. It's personal."
She looked at him, exhaustion painting her face.
"You think I don't know that?"
He softened slightly. "Then let me help."
She hesitated. Then, finally, nodded.
Not because she trusted him.
But because she didn't have anyone else left to trust.
Scene 4: Tensions and Tea
The next morning, the Voss mansion felt colder than usual. Elara sat at the breakfast table, untouched tea steaming beside her. Across from her, Damien read the morning brief on his tablet, lips pursed.
The silence was peaceful. Then, of course, it shattered.
Damien's father, Alistair Voss, entered the room like a storm in a three-piece suit.
"I hear there was a visitor last night," he said.
Elara didn't move. "You hear too much."
"And you speak too little."
Damien set the tablet down. "What do you want, Father?"
Alistair ignored him. "Your wife is stirring things up. Old names are appearing. Ghosts we buried for a reason."
Elara finally looked up. "You mean people you killed?"
Alistair smiled thinly. "This marriage was supposed to tame you. Not unleash your vendettas."
"You should've picked a tamer bride."
Alistair stepped closer. "You forget where you are. Who owns this table. This house."
Damien stood. "That's enough."
Father and son locked eyes.
"Careful," Alistair said. "You're starting to sound like her."
"She's my wife."
"For now."
The threat lingered as Alistair left the room.
Elara exhaled slowly. "Charming family."
Damien sat again, rubbing his temples. "You've seen nothing yet."
Scene 5: Allies and Enemies
Later that evening, Elara returned to her wing of the mansion and found a letter slid under her door. No name. Just a single line in messy handwriting:
You're not the only one wearing your face.
She crumpled the note, her heartbeat thundering.
Not just a clone.
A rival.
An imposter.
Scene 6: Fire and Silk
That night, Damien came to her room unannounced. No guards. No excuses.
"I couldn't sleep," he said.
"Guilt?"
He smirked faintly. "Curiosity."
She tilted her head. "About what?
"About you. The real you."
She sat on the edge of her bed, arms crossed. "What makes you think I know who that is?"
He approached slowly. "Because despite everything, this house, my father, the Resistance, you still show up. That takes strength."
"And stupidity."
"Maybe. But also hope."
She looked at him then. Really looked.
"Are you falling for me, Damien Voss?"
He didn't blink. "Already have. Question is, what will you do with that?"
Elara stood, walked to him, and placed her hand over his chest.
"Make you bleed for it."
He smiled.
And kissed her like he didn't care.