Beneath the Velvet Lie

Point of View: Leona Vale

They say the camera never lies. But tonight, as I watched Cassian Wolfhart flash a disarming smile for the press suited, stoic, and surrounded by the glittering elite; I knew better.

Every blink of the camera was a lie dressed in velvet.

Behind that half-smirk and the ten-figure empire was the man responsible for destroying my sister.

I sat on the worn edge of my couch, the TV screen casting cold light across my apartment's chipped walls. Outside, the city moaned through traffic and neon. But inside, all I could hear was the echo of Maya's voice the night she tried to take her own life.

"It wasn't just a mistake, Lee... it was planned. They ruined me. And no one cares."

My fingers curled around the chipped mug of cold tea I hadn't touched in hours. On-screen, Cassian's voice cut clean through the glitz:

"Wolfhart Dynamics continues to push for transparency, innovation, and human-first technology. We are building not just a brand, but a legacy."

A legacy.

Funny. Legacies didn't leave girls like Maya broken and suicidal. Legacies didn't scrub their sins clean with good PR and bleeding-edge AI.

I reached for the remote, ready to end the charade-but then he turned. Just a glance toward the camera. Toward me. And my breath caught.

Not because he was beautiful-though God help me, he was all sculpted arrogance and midnight charm-but because I swore he knew. Knew someone, somewhere, was watching not with awe, but with a quiet, burning fury.

I leaned closer, staring into the hollow of the screen.

"I'm coming for you," I whispered. Not in the way they always did. Not the star-struck socialites or the boardroom enemies.