A week ago, Hera and I returned to Atlas City—the city where my enemies thrived. The city where my retribution would begin.
Tonight was the first strike.
The grand exhibit was set in motion, a carefully orchestrated event that would introduce my work to the world under the name Vidora Ashe. No one knew who was behind the alias, not yet. But they would.
This exhibit wasn’t just about art—it was a weapon, a message. A mirror to their sins.
As I stood before the vanity, preparing myself for the night, Hector entered the room. He was dressed in a sleek black suit, his presence commanding as always. His gaze met mine in the reflection, a flicker of something unreadable crossing his features.
“Are you ready?” he asked, his deep voice steady but laced with tension.
I turned to him, nodding. “I am.”
For a moment, he remained silent, his sharp eyes scanning my face as if searching for any hesitation. Then, he reached into his pocket and pulled out a velvet box. When he opened it, a diamond ring gleamed inside.
“You need to wear this,” he said, his voice firm. “To the world, you are Francheska Falcon, my wife. This will make it believable.”