The morning sun hit the penthouse glass, but the real heat was coming from the screens.
Julian paced the living room, his tablet tucked under his arm, a phone in one hand, and a manic grin on his face. He looked like a general who had just won a war he expected to lose.
"It's not just a wave, Elena," he said, practically vibrating. "It's a tsunami. The PR firm I hired to seed the support groups? They're drowning. They didn't need to push anything. The interview acted like jet fuel."
Su-yin sat at the dining table, sipping tea. She was unbothered by his excitement. "The people are spirited?"
"Spirited?" Julian laughed, throwing the footage onto the main wall screen. "Look at this."
The screen split into a mosaic of morning news shows. Usually, these programs were light, frothy things—cooking segments and celebrity gossip. Today, they were tribunals. And the judges were women.
On Channel 4, a impeccably coiffed female anchor was dissecting Jaxson Creed's face frame by frame.
"Notice the panic," the anchor said, her voice sharp. "For years, Creed has bullied guests in that chair. He interrupts, he talks over them. But the moment Ms. Vance asserted dominance, he crumbled. It wasn't just a bad interview; it was a revelation of cowardice."
On Channel 9, a roundtable of three women was laughing openly at the clip of Creed staring at Elena's legs.
"He's done," one of them said. "I worked with Jaxson five years ago. He thrives on making women feel small. Elena Vance didn't just defend herself; she spoke for every woman who's ever had a boss look at her chest instead of her eyes."
Su-yin watched the spectacle with a faint, approving nod.
"The hyenas turn on the wounded lion," she observed. "They have hated him for a long time, haven't they?"
"They loathe him," Julian confirmed. "But they were afraid of his ratings. You broke his armor, and now they're all taking a stab."
He swiped the screen, changing the view to a chaotic stream of text and images.
"But this... this is the real power. Social media."
Su-yin leaned forward, frowning at the waterfall of information. "Explain this sorcery. I see names, I see portraits, but they move too fast."
Julian sat beside her. "Okay. Think of it like... the town square. But the square is the size of the world, and everyone is shouting at once."
He pointed to a blue icon. "This is Twitter. It's mostly words. Arguments. Declarations."
"A place for town criers and rabble-rousers," Su-yin deduced.
"Exactly. And right now, you are the only thing they are shouting about. Look at the hashtags." He pointed to words with the # symbol. "#TheQueen #VanceVictory #TheOriginPoint. These are like... banners. People fly them to show whose side they are on."
He switched apps to a gallery of images.
"This is Instagram. It's visual. It's about image, lifestyle, projection."
Su-yin studied the pictures. Women in navy blue suits posing like statues. Fan art of her sitting on a throne made of microphones.
"Propaganda," she said instantly. "Painted miniatures to display wealth and influence."
"Yes!" Julian blinked. "That's... actually a perfect description. And look at this group."
He pulled up a page with hundreds of thousands of followers.
THE VANCE VANGUARD.
"We started this with a few bots," Julian admitted. "But now? It's real people. Thousands of them. Men who admire the 'Alpha Energy,' women who want to be you. They're defending you in every comment section. If someone insults you, this group swarms them within minutes."
Su-yin traced the screen. "A volunteer army. They fight for me without pay?"
"They fight for what you represent," Julian said. "Agency. Power."
The elevator chimed, interrupting the lesson.
Julian checked his phone. "That's her. She's early."
"Who?"
"Seraphina Vale."
Su-yin raised an eyebrow. Even she, with only Elena's fragmented memories, recognized the name. Seraphina Vale was arguably the most famous actress in the country. A woman who had won every award, but whose life had been dissected by the tabloids for a decade. Divorces, addiction, recovery—she had lived it all in the public eye.
When Seraphina walked in, she didn't look like a movie star. She wore oversized sunglasses, a trench coat, and no makeup. She looked tired.
Julian moved to intercept her, but Seraphina waved him off. She walked straight to Su-yin.
Su-yin stood. She did not bow. Queens do not bow to entertainers, but she dipped her head in acknowledgment of another power.
"Ms. Vance," Seraphina said, her voice famous for its huskiness. She took off her glasses. Her eyes were sharp, intelligent, and lined with exhaustion. "I didn't come for a photo op. I came to shake the hand of the woman who castrated Jaxson Creed on live TV."
Su-yin extended her hand. "He made it easy. He possesses a small spirit."
Seraphina laughed, a dry, barking sound. She gripped Su-yin's hand firmly. "He's a monster. He outed my sister five years ago for ratings. Seeing him freeze like that... it was the best performance I've seen in years."
Seraphina looked around the penthouse, then back at Su-yin. "They're going to love you for a week, you know. Then they'll hate you again. Then they'll love you. It's a cycle."
"I do not require their love," Su-yin said calmly. "Only their respect."
Seraphina studied her. "You've changed, Elena. I met you at a gala three years ago. You were... flighty. Nervous. Now? You're standing differently."
"I learned that retreat offers no safety," Su-yin replied.
"No," Seraphina agreed. She walked to the window, looking out at the paparazzi swarming the building entrance below. "Success has a price, doesn't it? The air gets thin up here."
"Onlyness," Su-yin said.
The word hung in the air. It wasn't a standard word, but it was precise.
Seraphina turned back, her expression serious. "Onlyness. Yes. That's exactly it. You're the only one in the room who knows the weight of the crown."
"But," Su-yin gestured to the screen where the 'Vance Vanguard' was fighting her battles, and then to Seraphina. "It seems I am less 'only' than before. The victims of the past are gathering."
Seraphina smiled, a genuine, dangerous smile. "That's why I'm here. I parked right in front. Let them get the picture. Seraphina Vale and Elena Vance. A united front."
"The jester and the Queen," Su-yin mused, then corrected herself. "No. The Artist and the Architect."
"I like that," Seraphina buttoned her coat. "If you ever need a character witness, or just someone to drink wine with while the world burns, call me. Us 'difficult women' have to stick together."
She turned to leave, pausing at the elevator.
"Oh, and Elena?"
"Yes?"
"That suit? Wear it again. It scares the hell out of them."
As the doors closed, Su-yin turned back to Julian, who was staring at her with his mouth open.
"So," she said, pointing at the tablet. "This 'Twitter.' If I wish to issue a royal decree to my Vanguard... how do I type?"