Don't trust Huo.
Three words.
Not ink on paper, but a brand seared into Elara Meng's mind.
The diamond necklace felt heavy on her skin, a cold reminder of her gilded cage. But now, the cage had a new dimension. It wasn't just about Kian's possessiveness.
It was tied to the shadows that had swallowed her mother. The warning note was a key, and Elara knew she had to find the lock.
Her rebellion, once a silent dance of defiance, now had a purpose. It was a hunt. To hunt effectively, the butterfly had to learn to mimic the stillness of a spider, waiting in its web.
When Kian's text reminded her of the gala, she replied with a smiling emoji. The perfect mask was in place.
***
Meanwhile, in a cramped, cluttered office smelling of stale coffee and cold cases, Detective Julian Zheng pinned a photograph to a worn corkboard. It was a photo of his mentor, a veteran detective with kind eyes, who had been "silenced" while investigating a shadowy network trafficking in more than just money.
Next to it, he pinned a faded newspaper clipping. The headline was innocuous: "Tragic Accident Claims Life of Famed Dancer Liana Meng."
Julian's fist tightened. His mentor hadn't believed it was an accident. He had been looking into Liana Meng's final months, convinced her death was connected to his case.
His last, cryptic words to Julian were, "Follow the Phoenix."
On the board, red strings connected the two images to notes about Huo Enterprises, but every lead went cold. It was like chasing ghosts.
The chime of an incoming email cut through the silence. An anonymous address. The source was a disgruntled ex-security guard from a high-end estate, a contact Julian had cultivated for months.
The email was short. "Found something in the old archives you might be interested in. From the 'Vesper Villa' incident."
Attached was a scanned image of a page from a guest log, partially burned. The villa, a secluded, ultra-exclusive property owned by a Huo subsidiary, had burned down under mysterious circumstances a decade ago, around the same time Liana Meng died. The incident was quickly buried.
Most names on the log were unreadable, but one stood out, listed under "Guest Instructor."
Liana Meng.
Below the log was a blurry photo, likely taken with a hidden camera by the security guard. It showed a group of young, elegantly dressed people in what looked like a seminar.
They all had the same vacant, serene smile. In the corner of the photo, a woman stood watching them, her posture radiating an unnerving calm. The quality was poor, but the profile was unmistakable.
The same woman he'd seen in photos with Kian Huo at charity events. The enigmatic head of the Huo Foundation.
The phone rang. It was his superior, Captain Davies.
"Julian," Captain Davies' voice was weary and laced with warning.
"I'm hearing whispers you're digging into the old Huo network case again. Drop it. For your own good. Some things are better left buried."
"But Captain, I just got a lead..."
"I don't want to hear it!" Davies cut him off.
"That's an order. Stay away from anything connected to that family."
The call ended. Julian stared at the photo of the smiling, empty-eyed "students" and the shadowy woman overseeing them.
This wasn't just about money or power. It felt like a cult. And Liana Meng had been right in the middle of it.
***
That evening, at the Sterling Dynamics gala, Elara was the perfect accessory on Kian Huo's arm. She smiled, she nodded, she played the role of the treasured fiancée. Kian was pleased, proudly introducing her to his business rivals.
But behind her serene smile, Elara was watching. She was observing Kian, searching for a crack in his flawless armor.
The opportunity came when a portly director from Sterling Dynamics approached them, his voice booming with false sincerity. "Mr. Huo, you are a lucky man! To have a talent like Ms. Meng. It reminds me of her mother's legendary performance, the Dance of the Phoenix. A masterpiece that captivated the entire city."
The air grew thick. The Phoenix Dance? She had never heard of it.
She glanced at Kian. For a split second, she saw it.
The hand holding his champagne flute tightened, the knuckles turning white. His smile remained, but his eyes became a frozen lake. He looked at the director with an intensity that promised annihilation.
"An old memory," Kian said, his voice dangerously soft.
"Best not to dwell on the past."
The director paled, realizing his misstep, and quickly scurried away.
But Elara had seen it. The crack. The mention of that dance had touched a raw nerve.
The Phoenix.
The name from her mother's secret warning. And now, a legendary, forgotten dance.
She realized what she had to do. She needed to know what the Dance of the Phoenix was.
And judging by Kian's reaction, he was the one person who would never tell her. She had to find someone who would.