---
(The room is still. Not silent—no, silence implies emptiness. This is something else. A charged, deliberate stillness. The kind that makes the air feel heavy. The lamp on Dominic's desk flickers, casting his shadow long and distorted against the wall. He sits, fingers steepled, listening as Sir Flamont's men stand before him, their voices sharp and professional.)
Agent:
"The twins, Elara and Sylvia, arrived in town at five years old. Their brother, Elias, raised them, despite being barely a child himself. He worked tirelessly, jumping from job to job to keep them afloat. Sharp mind. Resilient. Unshakable."
(A pause. The agent shifts, unsure whether to continue, but Dominic simply lifts a brow—silent permission to go on.)
"They were lucky. Found a man who took them in. Not their father, but close enough. Still, Elias remained the backbone."
Dominic (murmuring, amused):
"Admirable. Predictable. Boring."
(The agent hesitates but presses on.)
"Elara is the heart—warm, reserved, and deeply emotional. People trust her. Sylvia is the contrast—fierce, suspicious, hard to break. Elias is the foundation. The moment he crumbles, the whole thing falls apart."
(Dominic's fingers drum lazily against the armrest, his expression unreadable. Then—slowly, deliberately—he leans forward, elbows resting on his knees.)
Dominic (soft, teasing):
"Elara, Elara, Elara…"
(He exhales through his nose, lips curling into something between amusement and boredom.)
"I'm getting tired of hearing that name."
(A beat. Then, a slow smirk.)
"Let's change the game, shall we?"
---
(The market is alive with movement. Vendors haggle, carts creak, the air thick with the scent of spices and freshly baked bread. Elara shifts a basket of fruit in her arms, brushing a loose strand of hair from her face—until she feels it. That unsettling prickle at the back of her neck. The presence of someone watching.)
(She turns, and there he is. Tall, poised, oozing confidence that borders on arrogance. He doesn't belong here, and yet he stands like he owns the place. Their eyes meet. A slow smirk tugs at his lips.)
Dominic:
"You have a habit of sticking your nose where it doesn't belong."
Elara (calm, unimpressed):
"And you have a habit of blocking my path."
(His chuckle is low, rich, like he's genuinely entertained.)
Dominic:
"I like you, stranger. You're feisty."
Elara (dryly):
"And you're still in my way."
(Dominic tilts his head, studying her. Then, just as smoothly, he leans in.)
Dominic (murmuring):
"Tell me, how much can you lose before you finally break?"
(A chill creeps up her spine, but she doesn't flinch. She won't give him the satisfaction. And yet, when he finally steps away, that lingering unease remains.)
---
(That night, the door slams open. Elias stumbles in, his clothes rumpled, his expression hollow. The exhaustion in his eyes is something new, something raw. The twins freeze, their conversation cutting off mid-sentence.)
Elara (startled):
"Elias? What happened?"
(He exhales, dragging a hand down his face.)
Elias (quietly, almost detached):
"I lost my job."
Sylvia (incredulous):
"What? But they need you! You're the best they have."
Elias (grimly):
"Apparently, they don't. And not just them. No one will hire me. Everywhere I go, doors slam shut. It's like I don't exist."
(A heavy silence settles. Elara's mind races. It doesn't make sense. Unless—unless someone made it happen.)
(And then, realization strikes. Her breath stills.)
Elara (murmuring, dread creeping in):
"The arrogant stranger."
---
(The room is dimly lit, the air carrying the faint scent of aged wood and leather. Sir Flamont stands near the grand bookshelf, flipping through a document while Isadora watches him, arms crossed. Her usually composed expression is tinged with something close to irritation.)
Isadora (calm but firm):
"Tell me, Flamont. What exactly has my son been up to?"
(Sir Flamont doesn't immediately answer. Instead, he closes the file, placing it neatly on the desk before finally meeting her gaze.)
Sir Flamont (measured tone):
"He's been busy."
Isadora (deadpan):
"That much I already know."
Sir Flamont:
"He's had my men investigating a particular family—Elara, Sylvia, and Elias. He wanted to know everything: their past, their strengths, their weaknesses. He's quite thorough, Madam."
Isadora (narrowing her eyes):
"And what exactly did he do with this information?"
(A pause. Sir Flamont exhales through his nose, rubbing his temple as if debating how much to say.)
Sir Flamont:
"He had Elias fired from his job."
(Isadora stills, her grip on her wrist tightening.)
Isadora (low, warning):
"And you let him?"
(Sir Flamont meets her gaze evenly, unfazed.)
Sir Flamont:
"I serve Dominic. You know that."
(A beat. Isadora exhales slowly, shaking her head.)
Isadora (muttering):
"Of course you do."
(She turns away, her thoughts racing. She knows Dominic—he isn't careless, but he is ruthless. The fact that he's set his sights on this family means one thing: he's interested. And when Dominic is interested, destruction follows.)
Isadora (quietly):
"I need to see them."
(Sir Flamont doesn't react, but something shifts in his stance—approval? Amusement? She can't tell. Instead, he simply inclines his head.)
Sir Flamont:
"If you wish."
(Without another word, Isadora strides toward the door. But just as she reaches for the handle, Sir Flamont speaks again, his voice lower, almost knowing.)
Sir Flamont:
"Madam, you do realize that nothing happens without his permission?"
(Isadora pauses. She knows what he means. Dominic let her find out. Dominic wanted her to go to them. He was always three steps ahead.)
Isadora Visits the Twins' Home
(The house is small, humble, yet well-kept. The scent of fresh bread lingers in the air, a stark contrast to the tension brewing inside. Elara and Sylvia exchange wary glances as they stand before the woman who just entered. She looks out of place—elegant yet unreadable, her sharp eyes scanning the room. They don't know her, but something about her presence unsettles them.)
Elara (cautious, polite):
"I'm sorry, but… who are you?"
(The woman doesn't answer immediately. Instead, she steps further inside, glancing briefly at the worn furniture, the small signs of struggle hidden beneath an effort to maintain normalcy. Then, she turns her gaze back to them.)
Isadora (even-toned):
"My name is Isadora. I came to check on you."
(Sylvia crosses her arms, standing slightly in front of Elara, protective. She doesn't like strangers, especially ones who walk in unannounced.)
Sylvia (flatly):
"Check on us? Why?"
Isadora:
"Because I know what my son has done."
(Silence. The air tightens. The words land heavily, even though they don't fully understand their weight yet.)
(Elara stiffens, her fingers twitching slightly at her side. Her mind races, connecting dots she hadn't thought to connect before. Isadora. Her son. The arrogant stranger at the market. The sudden collapse of Elias's life. A sick feeling creeps up her spine.)
Elara (softly, almost to herself):
"No…"
(Sylvia frowns, looking between them.)
Sylvia:
"Your son?"
(Isadora exhales, nodding once.)
Isadora:
"Dominic Flamont."
(The room feels smaller. Colder. Sylvia's arms tighten over her chest, but it's Elara who steps forward, her voice quiet but steady.)
Elara:
"Did he do it?"
(Isadora doesn't flinch. She doesn't lie.)
Isadora (firmly):
"Yes."
(A sharp inhale from Sylvia. Elara, however, only closes her eyes briefly, as if absorbing the inevitable.)
(Isadora watches them carefully. She expected anger, maybe outrage. But this quiet… this stillness… it unnerves her. She understands now—these girls have been through enough to know how to swallow their rage, to tuck away their suffering until the right moment. It's not innocence she sees in them. It's endurance.)
Isadora (gentler now):
"I didn't come to make excuses. I came to see if he had already gone too far. And if so… to apologize."
(Sylvia scoffs, finally speaking up again.)
Sylvia (mocking):
"An apology? What, are we supposed to feel better now? Because the rich man's mother said 'sorry'?"
(Isadora meets her gaze without flinching.)
Isadora:
"No. I don't expect you to feel anything at all."
(That, strangely, quiets Sylvia. She expected condescension, guilt, pity. But this woman… she's just as cold as her son. And yet, there's something else—something unreadable in her eyes.)
(Elara looks down, her mind spinning. Then, suddenly, everything clicks. Dominic's presence in the market. The way he looked at her. The way Elias had no explanation for his sudden misfortune. The way this woman is standing here now, as if this is just another piece in a larger game.)
Elara (whispering, realization dawning):
"It was him."
(Sylvia glances at her sister, confused.)
Sylvia:
"What?"
Elara (stronger now, eyes burning):
"Dominic. He did this. He's the reason Elias lost everything."
(The words settle, heavy and suffocating. Sylvia's fingers clench into fists. Isadora watches them carefully. She says nothing more. She doesn't need to. They already know the truth.)
(Elara finally meets her gaze again, this time with quiet resolve.)
Elara:
"Where can I find him?"
(Isadora raises a brow but doesn't answer. She doesn't have to. Because she already knows- Elara will find her son soon enough.)