Chester's underground studio was dimly lit and dotted with warm amber light, which colored the concrete walls. A large circular space, it was somehow both tech-lab and design studio. Fabrics hung from steel wires. Digital sketches flickered from rotating screens. Half-finished garments draped over mannequins. In the center was a wall-sized pinboard. Faces. Threads. Logos. The web of Rue de Rêve's empire, and their strategy to dismantle it.
Cameron leaned against the drafting table, sleeves rolled up, shirt half-buttoned, hair a mess of controlled chaos. He clenched his jaw as he surveyed a set of design blueprints this time not for clothes but for much more dangerous things.
Chester stood behind him, arms crossed, watching like an inquisitor. His black beanie ever-present, pencil tucked behind one ear.
"You're pushing her too hard,"Chester finally said.
Cameron didn't raise his gaze. "She's not a child, Chester."
Chester sighed. "She's been moved, by the way. Gave her my room upstairs. It's quieter. Less...prison-like."
That caught Cameron's attention. He turned slowly, eyes fierce. "And?"
"She hasn't screamed. That's progress." Chester shrugged. "Still thinks we're the bad guys."
"Well,"Cameron muttered as he walked back towards his workstation, "we are. Technically."
"But not to her."
"No,"came Cameron's low reply. "Not to her."
In Chester's room, Lily sat on a minimalist bed, the pristine white sheets tucked in with military precision. Her hands were folded in her lap, and her gaze never left the door. They hadn't restrained her, but they hadn't let her go either.
The walls were plain, except for a small, framed photo on the far side. It looked like a child's drawing. Crayon, faded. A sun and two people standing next to a dog. Hope was scrawled in the corner.
Lily didn't know what it meant.
Chester entered with a tray. Tea, croissants, and a small glass of fresh juice - bearing it over to the table while avoiding her gaze. She watched him. He was careful and controlled, the kind who could not speak until he had carefully chosen each word as though he were picking fabric. That meant he would yield in no time at all.
"You're not a prisoner," he said. "But you are being watched."
Lily's gaze was unwavering. "You don't have to act nice. It's creepier that way."
Chester chuckled softly. "Suit yourself."
He turned to go.
"What do you want from me?" Lily asked all of a sudden.
Chester paused at the door. "Nothing... yet. But somebody does. He simply doesn't know how to ask."
"Cameron?"
Lily stared down at the untouched croissant. "You keep feeding me like a guest."
Chester shrugged. "Would you prefer shackles?"
"At least that way, I'd know where I stand,"she retorted. Chester's voice dropped.
"Chains bring no clarity, but this... this we ask of you, this is bigger than that."
He answered with a silence, closing the door softly behind him.
In a control room next door to the studio deep underground, Cameron was with Alex Cassman-Hope's assistant, the informant, the perfect little spy.
"You are late,"Cameron said, not bothering to look at him.
Alex dumped a Manila envelope onto the desk. "Had to make sure Hope believed I was still working for her. She's becoming suspicious. Sooner or later, she might have me followed also."
"She's always suspicious," muttered Cameron, flipping through the photographs. "What did you leave out?"
Alex smiled. "The tunnel. The bunker. Any shot that hints at you meeting Chester. I give her 90% of the truth."
"That's good," he said as he got another photo out, one with him handing flowers and bags of gifts to Lily.
"This one?" Cameron asked as he flips the photo towards Alex's direction. Showing him.
"I let her see that. Used it to build on Hope's assumptions. She thinks you're just chasing tail."
Cameron's jaw tightened slightly. "This could give me away, Alex."
"Okay, okay, you got me, I admit it. That wasn't supposed to be on the list."
Cameron massaged his forehead as if trying to rub away the anger.
"I told you to only take photos that will not give us away!" Cameron shouted, while Alex raised both hands with a smirk, completely unfazed by Cameron's anger.
Cameron sat down, putting his arms along the armrest and still pressing his fingers to his forehead. He sighed. Without looking at Alex, he asked in a calm voice, "Why did you take this photo in the first place?"
"Because I find it funny. You, begging a girl. Rare to see you soft. Makes you look... human. Thought you hated that."
Cameron was keeping himself as calm as he could, rubbing his forehead and fighting the urge to punch him straight in the face. In his head, however, he was already choking Alex.
Alex leant back on the table, his arms crossed. "Don't worry, I'll fix my mistake. So, what's the long game here? You keep tossing crumbs at Hope while plotting to burn the whole place down with you inside?"
"I won't burn it down," Cameron said, low and calm. "I will rebuild it. Just... not in their image."
Silence passed some minutes until Alex asked, "And the girl? What about her?"
"She'll come around," Cameron replied. "And if she doesn't?" Alex pressed. Cameron's gaze was glued to the pin board. "Then I'll do what my mother used to do. Turn love into leverage."
Meanwhile, on the 50th floor of Rue de Rêve, Hope Vergara was reading the latest report that had been handed to her by Alex.
She sat in her private room, an oasis of glass and gold-accented furniture with cold silence. Faith was long gone.
Hope studied the photograph of Cameron with the mystery girl. Her fingers tapped lightly on the desk with unreadable eyes.
"Nothing here gives information about this girl," she murmured. "So what does Cameron want with her?"
At that moment, she was looking out the window with the city lights flickering like sparks beneath her. Her expression was calculated, but with her right hand lifted eagle-like, the index finger rubbed slowly against the side of her thumb. A quiet, unconscious movement. A habit. One she'd only do when her thoughts went spiraling too deep to hold.
Next was the troubling thought: Is it possible that Alex is holding back?
It lingered, sharp and persistent, like a pin pressed beneath the surface. Loose ends made her very uncomfortable, especially the ones she had trusted to tie themselves.
He entered seconds after she had thought of him. Clip board in hand.
"You're late," Hope said, glancing up.
"There was traffic,"he lied smoothly.
Hope didn't push. "He still has not asked for additional resources. No budget changes. No extra staff. Nothing."
Alex shook his head. "Not a peep. But his studio's always lit. Working late."
She stood, walking to the window to look down at the glowing skyline.
"Find out who the girl is. And if she matters... I want her brought in."
Alex hesitated. "Understood."
Hope's voice sharpened ever so slightly.
"Everyone plays a part,"she said. "Even traitors think they're actors, not puppets."
She looked at him dead in the eyes.
"And if I find out you've been hiding anything from me, Alex..."
She didn't raise her voice. She didn't have to. Instead, she rubbed her thumb again, slow and deliberate, so subtle that only a handful of people in the world had ever seen it.
It meant she was already imagining what she would do if the answer was yes.
He smiled. "Madam President, as your assistant, you can count on me - I've always been loyal. I always will be."
Hope gave a slight tight smile back and turned to the window. She waved a hand without looking at him, telling him he could leave.
But as he stepped out of her office, Alex's face changed-the smirk faded. He quickly typed on his burner phone:
HOPE'S DIGGING.
MOVE LILY IF NEEDED.
STAY AHEAD.
— A