“Immani,” Viven said gently, as if scolding a child. “That’s inappropriate. Go back to your work.”
Immani didn’t move.
Her voice sharpened.
“That drink isn’t medicine,” Immani said, staring at the orange juice in Viven’s hand. “It’s a leash.”
Fernando’s throat tightened. He looked from Immani to Viven to Elena.
Elena’s eyes were fixed on Viven now, wide and fearful, like she was waiting for the punishment that came after truth.
Fernando felt heat rise into anger, and underneath it, something worse.
Doubt.
“Viven,” Fernando said slowly. “What is she talking about?”
Viven’s smile stayed calm, practiced, compassionate. Compassion like a costume.
“Fernando,” she said, voice smooth as satin. “Your staff has been stressed. They hear things, they imagine things. Elena is fragile. You know that. This is cruel.”
Immani made a sound, half laugh and half pain.
“Look at her,” Immani said, nodding toward Elena. “And it isn’t a plea. It’s a command. She’s terrified.”
Viven’s eyes flashed sharp and cold.
“Elena is delicate,” Viven snapped, and the mask slipped just enough to reveal what lived underneath.
Control.
Possession.
A quiet cruelty dressed in silk.
Fernando’s stomach dropped.