“Elena,” Misha mutters under his breath.
I don’t respond. Not immediately. I just watch.
The maid assigned to Valeria moves through the kitchen on screen. Once. Twice. Then again.
Too often.
Too precise.
Her movements are controlled. Intentional. Like she knows exactly what she’s doing and exactly when no one is watching her do it.
My jaw tightens slightly.
“Who is that?” Mike asks.
“Elena,” Misha answers. “Miss Valeria’s personal maidservant.”
Mike hums.
I replay another segment. Zoom in slightly. Track her path.
She enters the kitchen.
Stays longer than necessary.
Touches items she doesn’t need to touch.
Moves between stations like she’s checking something—not preparing anything.
Testing.
My hand tightens around the edge of the desk.
Misha speaks carefully. “Sir…she was assigned directly to Valeria after the gala incident.”
I know that.
That’s what makes it worse.
Because that assignment came through me. Through control measures I put in place specifically to prevent this exact situation.
And someone still got through.
I sit back slowly in my chair, eyes still on the screen. Watching Elena move again.
Lukyan exhales sharply. “So what are we waiting for? Have her taken to the interrogation room.”
I don’t look away from the monitor.
“Do it,” I say to Misha.
Misha nods once, then moves. He disappears out the door without another word.
Silence settles back into the room. Thick. Uncomfortable.
I drag a hand down my face.
“I gave the order,” I say quietly. “I gave the command for Elena to personally monitor Valeria’s food. It’s all my fault. I—”
