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.
