Beneath The Mask

Chapter 4

Chapter 4: A Debt in Blood

Elara Quinn had crossed the point of no return.

By accepting Damian’s flash drive, she’d declared war on Victor Voss — even if no one heard it.

She didn’t sleep that night. She locked herself in her apartment and plugged the flash drive into a burner laptop, half-expecting it to explode.

Instead, it opened a single folder.

“VIOLET FILES — SUBJECT: E.Q.”

She scrolled through it with growing dread.

Surveillance photos of her taken over the last three years. Conversations transcribed. GPS logs. One image showed her standing on a rooftop in Paris. Another showed her crying in her mother’s hospital room—alone.

Victor had been watching her long before he’d asked her to spy.

And at the bottom, a single file labeled:

“IF SHE TURNS”

She clicked it.

Phase One: Discredit publicly.

Phase Two: Leak her background. Attach to past scandal.

Phase Three: Eliminate.

No emotion. No hesitation.

Victor had already planned her funeral.

Meanwhile — Voss Towers

Victor Voss stood in his private study, staring down at the Joker card left on his desk.

It shouldn’t have been possible.

Damian was dead. He knew he was dead.

He remembered the river. The bullet wound. The blood.

But that card…

Victor crushed it in his hand.

Serena stormed into the room, tablet in hand.

“Damian just bought our Lisbon subsidiary,” she snapped. “Through a Russian holding firm.”

Victor turned slowly. “That was supposed to close next week.”

“Not anymore. He outbid us. And the press is tearing us apart for ‘internal disorganization.’”

Victor narrowed his eyes.

“He’s not just coming back,” he said. “He’s dismantling us.”

Elara’s next mission

Two days later, she was back at Voss Towers, pretending nothing had changed.

Victor sat behind his desk, reading a file. He looked up, smiling as if he hadn’t marked her for execution.

“Elara,” he said. “Good. I need you at the shareholders’ event tonight. Damian will be there.”

“You’re sure?”

“Oh, he’ll come. He won’t resist a public stage.”

“What do you want me to do?”

“Embarrass him,” Victor said. “Get under his skin. He’s arrogant. That makes him weak.”

Elara nodded, careful not to let her disgust show.

“You’ll be wearing a wire,” Victor added.

That was new.

She hesitated. “You don’t trust me?”

He smiled wider. “It’s not you I don’t trust. It’s ghosts.”

That Night — Elite Shareholders’ Gala

Held at the Corinthian Hotel’s sky ballroom, the event was dripping with wealth. Diamond chandeliers. Gold-plated walls. The kind of place where power was currency and lies were served with champagne.

Elara wore red silk. A dagger’s color. Her earpiece buzzed softly with Victor’s voice.

“Approach him. Get close. Make him react.”

Then Damian entered.

The room shifted.

He didn’t need to speak. He didn’t need to pose. His presence turned heads, drew whispers. He walked with the elegance of a king who had once ruled, lost everything, and returned to conquer.

He spotted her immediately.

Elara approached him with a practiced smile. “You clean up well.”

Damian leaned in. “You’re wearing a wire.”

She blinked.

“Right side. Stitching’s too tight. You wouldn’t wear something that uncomfortable unless forced.”

She forced a laugh. “Paranoia suits you.”

He smiled, eyes hard. “You should’ve told them no.”

Then louder, for the surrounding guests to hear, he added:

“You know, Elara, if you’re going to spy on me, you could at least try to be subtle.”

Guests turned. Cameras flashed. Murmurs spread.

Victor’s voice screamed through her earpiece: “What is he doing?”

Damian took a champagne glass from a tray, raised it toward the crowd.

“I’d like to toast to old friends,” he said. “Especially those who lie to your face while recording you for blackmail.”

Laughter. Scandalized gasps.

Elara stood frozen, cheeks burning.

“You bastard,” she whispered under her breath.

He leaned closer. “Don’t mistake mercy for affection.”

Then he walked away, the crowd parting before him like a tide.

After the Gala — Elara’s Apartment

Victor called.

She didn’t answer.

He called again.

This time, she picked up.

“You failed,” he said coldly.

“I did my best.”

“Your best is irrelevant. You’ve exposed yourself. And me.”

“What was I supposed to do?” she snapped. “He saw everything. He played me—he planned it!”

A long pause.

“Then maybe,” Victor said, “you’re no longer useful.”

The call ended.

Elara sat in silence.

Then she looked in the mirror.

Damian had just destroyed her in front of the city’s elite.

But he’d also saved her life.

Because if she hadn’t worn the wire, Victor would’ve assumed loyalty.

And killed her quietly.

Damian’s Penthouse — Later That Night

Cole laughed when he saw the footage.

“You nuked her.”

“She needed to choose,” Damian said.

“Yeah? And what happens when she chooses to burn you instead?”

Damian sat down, loosening his tie.

“She won’t.”

“You’re sure?”

“I’m betting she hates him more than she hates me.”

“Risky bet.”

“All revenge is.”

At 2:00 AM, Elara receives a package.

No return address.

Inside: the same wire she wore at the gala — crushed, soaked in blood.

With it, a note:

Run all you want. You were mine the moment you lied.

Signed:

V