The air inside JFK's Terminal 4 was thick with the smell of jet fuel, cheap coffee, and too many bodies packed into one space. Elianna pushed through the crowd, her eyes scanning the arrival hall. She was looking for a soldier. A man in uniform. A man who was supposed to be at the marriage bureau an hour ago.

She saw nothing but tourists with rolling luggage and business people on their phones.

Then, a burst of camera flashes lit up the far end of the hall. A crowd was gathered, a scrum of reporters and paparazzi jostling for position. In the center of it all, posing like a saint among sinners, was Kiana Solis.

Elianna stopped walking. Of course. Kiana never missed an opportunity for an audience. This wasn't just a trap; it was a stage.

Elianna turned, trying to angle toward the exit. She didn't have time for Kiana's drama. She needed to find Armstrong and figure out what the hell was going on.

But Kiana's gaze was sharp. It swept over the crowd and locked onto Elianna like a heat-seeking missile. The fake, sorrowful expression on Kiana's face vanished, replaced by a predatory smile.

"Elianna! Oh my god, is that you?" Kiana's voice carried over the noise of the terminal, loud and theatrical. "You really did come back to help us!"

The cameras swiveled. The reporters turned. Suddenly, Elianna was the focal point of fifty lenses. She froze, the glare of the flashes blinding her.

Kiana broke away from her entourage and rushed over, her arms outstretched. She moved to wrap Elianna in a hug, but Elianna shifted her weight, stepping just out of reach. Kiana's hands grasped at empty air.

Kiana's smile flickered, but she recovered instantly. She turned to the cameras, laughing lightly. "My sister is just a little shy. She's been away for so long. She came back to make amends for her past mistakes. To take responsibility."

The words were poison wrapped in sugar. They painted Elianna as the guilty party, the prodigal sinner returning to beg for forgiveness.

Kiana leaned in close. Her lips brushed Elianna's ear. "Give it up, Elianna. Agree to the substitution in front of the cameras. It's your only way out."

Elianna stared at Kiana's perfect makeup, her designer dress, her fake concern. The anger was a cold, hard lump in her stomach. She looked past Kiana at the sea of expectant faces, the microphones thrust forward, the bright lights.

"We haven't been sisters for six years, Kiana," Elianna said. Her voice wasn't loud, but the microphone picked it up. The room went quiet.

Kiana's smile became rigid. "Elianna, please, don't be like this-"

"And are you sure," Elianna continued, her gaze boring into Kiana, "you want to discuss right here how you're forcing me to marry your disabled fiancé?"

The explosion of sound was deafening. The reporters surged forward, shouting questions. The flashes were blinding, a strobe light of chaos.

"Disabled fiancé?" "Substitution?" "Is this true?"

Kiana's face lost its color. The mask slipped. She hadn't expected this. She hadn't expected Elianna to burn the script.

"Elianna, what are you talking about?" Kiana sputtered, trying to recover. "You're not making sense. Are you jet-lagged?"

"My flight landed three hours ago," Elianna shot back. "The question is, why are you here, Kiana? Why are you ambushing me at the airport?"

The questions hung in the air. The reporters smelled blood. Kiana opened her mouth, but before she could speak, a man in the front row shoved a microphone toward Elianna.

"Ms. Baker! What do you have to say about the commercial espionage case from six years ago? Rumor has it you nearly destroyed the Solis family!"

The focus shifted. The blood was in the water, and it wasn't Kiana's anymore.

The terminal went dead silent. The only sound was the hum of the fluorescent lights and the distant rumble of jet engines. Every camera, every microphone, every eye was fixed on Elianna.

Kiana saw her opening. She pressed a hand to her chest, her lower lip trembling. A single, perfectly timed tear rolled down her cheek. "Please," she whispered to the cameras, "don't ask her about that. Our family has suffered enough."

It was a masterful performance. It confirmed every rumor without saying a word. It painted Elianna as the villain and Kiana as the grieving victim.

Kiana reached out and grabbed Elianna's hand. Her grip was surprisingly strong, her nails digging into Elianna's skin. "Sister, just tell them you didn't mean it. Tell them you were young and foolish. Tell them you were used."

It was a trap. A verbal snare. If Elianna said yes, she admitted guilt. If she said no, she looked like an unrepentant monster.

Elianna snatched her hand back. "Don't touch me."

Another reporter, a man with a greedy look in his eye, stepped forward. "Ms. Baker, is it true that the secrets you leaked caused your adoptive father's company to go bankrupt? Is it true that his business partner committed suicide because of you?"

The question was a slap in the face. It was a lie, a twisted version of the truth that Solis PR had spun six years ago. But the worst was yet to come.

Kiana let out a shaky breath. "And the car accident... Daddy... my brother..." She trailed off, letting the implication hang in the air. She was connecting the espionage case to the deaths. She was telling the world that Elianna was a murderer.

The crowd's mood shifted. The curiosity turned to disgust. The disgust turned to anger.

"Monster!" someone shouted.

"How could she show her face here?" another voice hissed.

Elianna looked at Kiana. She saw the triumph gleaming in her eyes. She saw the satisfaction of a knife well-placed. Using the deaths of her father and brother-using the people Elianna loved more than life itself-as a prop for her little show.

Something inside Elianna snapped. It wasn't a hot rage. It was a cold, absolute stillness. The world narrowed down to Kiana's smug face.

Elianna didn't think. She didn't hesitate. Her arm moved on its own.

The crack of the slap echoed through the terminal. It was sharp, violent, and final.

Time stopped. The reporters froze. The cameras kept flashing, capturing the moment in high definition. Kiana stood frozen, her head turned to the side, a bright red handprint already blooming on her cheek.

Elianna's palm stung. The sensation grounded her. She looked at Kiana, who was slowly raising a hand to her face, her eyes wide with shock and genuine pain.

"That," Elianna said, her voice vibrating with barely contained fury, "was for my father."

Kiana's mouth fell open. A sob escaped her lips. The tears were real now, born of pain and humiliation. The reporters were shouting, the flashes were blinding, but Elianna only had eyes for the woman in front of her.

She raised her hand again. High. Palm open.

Kiana saw it. She let out a piercing scream, cowering away.

The scream died in Kiana's throat as the second slap landed. The sound was heavier this time, meatier. It snapped Kiana's head to the other side.

"That was for my brother," Elianna said. Her voice was ice water. It froze the air between them.

Kiana stumbled back, her hands covering her face. Her carefully applied makeup was ruined, mascara running down her cheeks in black rivers. Her hair was a mess. She looked nothing like the polished socialite she had been five minutes ago. She looked like a wounded animal.

Elianna stepped forward. She grabbed a fistful of Kiana's designer collar and yanked her close. The fabric tore slightly. Kiana gasped, her eyes wide with terror.

"Listen to me," Elianna whispered, her lips inches from Kiana's ear. "If you ever use their deaths as a prop again, I won't slap you. I'll break your neck."

The threat was delivered with such chilling calm that Kiana felt her knees buckle. She had never seen this Elianna. The old Elianna was a victim. This woman was a predator.

Elianna let go. Kiana staggered backward, nearly tripping over her own heels. She caught herself on a pillar, her chest heaving.

Elianna turned to the horde of reporters. They were clicking away, documenting every tear, every smear of lipstick. "Take your pictures," Elianna told them, her voice flat. "Show the world how the Solis family heiress reacts when asked about the relatives who died for her inheritance."

The cameras immediately swung toward Kiana. The sight was ugly. She was pathetic, sniveling, and broken. It wasn't the narrative she had planned.

Kiana realized she was losing. The sympathy was gone. She forced herself to stand up straight. She wiped her face, smearing the mascara further. She tried a watery smile. "Sister... I know you're angry. I know you hate us. But violence isn't the answer. You're only hurting the people who love you."

It was a desperate pivot. The victim card, played again.

A few murmurs rippled through the crowd. "Maybe she went too far," someone whispered. "She hit her," another said. "That's assault."

Elianna felt the shift. The crowd was fickle. They loved a slap, but they hated a bully. Kiana was trying to paint her as the aggressor.

"The people I love are dead," Elianna said, her voice cutting through the noise. "Because of your family."

Kiana flinched. The moral high ground crumbled beneath her feet. She opened her mouth to speak, to spin another lie, to find another angle.

"I disagree."

The voice was deep, commanding, and utterly calm. It cut through the chaos of the terminal like a knife through smoke.

The crowd parted. Heads turned. The reporters lowered their cameras for a second, confused.

A man in a wheelchair rolled slowly into the space between Elianna and Kiana. He was dressed in the formal uniform of a United States Army officer. The dark green fabric was crisp, the buttons polished. Rows of ribbons adorned his chest, catching the harsh light of the terminal. His shoulders were broad, his posture perfect despite the chair.

The crowd fell silent. The aura of authority radiating from him was palpable. It demanded respect without asking for it.

His eyes found Elianna. They were a piercing, intelligent blue. He gave her a slight, almost imperceptible nod.

Elianna stared at him. A jolt of surprise shot through her. This was him. This was Baldwin Armstrong. The man who was supposed to be at the marriage bureau. The man who was sitting in a wheelchair.

He turned his chair to face Kiana. His expression was unreadable, but the look in his eyes was enough to make Kiana take another step back.