Chapter 2 - The Mark of the Vanished
Elena pulled back instinctively, her defensive instincts honed by years on the city streets. ""Don't touch me,"" she said, mirroring her earlier warning. ""I was born with it.""
Julian stared at her face, reading features that seemed impossible in this setting. The high cheekbones, the determined hazel-brown eyes, the unmistakable curve of a mouth he had only seen in oil paintings locked inside his grandfather’s private study.
""Julian, control yourself!"" Beatrice interjected, stepping closer, her perfume choking the space between them. ""Security is already escorting her out. You shouldn't be speaking to common kitchen help.""
""Be quiet, Beatrice,"" Julian commanded without breaking eye contact with Elena. He turned to the head of security, who was jogging up the marble steps. ""Marcus. Clear the west wing. Take my mother to the salon. And bring this young woman with us.""
""Wait—what?"" Elena protested, backing toward the service doors. ""I have a shift to finish. I don't want any trouble with your security.""
""You're not in trouble,"" Julian said quietly, his voice dropping so low only she could hear. ""In fact, everyone else in this room might be.""
Marian Sterling looked between Elena and her son, her frail hands trembling harder. A single tear broke through the grandmother's composure as she whispered, ""Julian... her eyes. Good God, her eyes.""
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Before Elena could slip away, two stone-faced guards barred the kitchen exit, guiding her gently but firmly toward the private elevator. Behind them, Beatrice’s mask of elegance slipped into sheer venom. She pulled out a sleek gold phone, dialing a number beneath the shadow of a chandelier.
""It's happening,"" Beatrice hissed into the receiver. ""The girl is here. And Julian knows.""
