But was Elliot Vayinthe truly the prime minister?
As the luxury car pulled away from the villa, leaving Jaxen slumped and drugged in its shadow, Lav stood waiting in the dim alley a few blocks away.
Her figure leaned gracefully against her car, arms folded, the faint rhythm of her heels tapping on the cobblestones, echoing her patience.
The sleek vehicle rolled to a stop before her, its polished surface glinting in the moonlight. A man, wearing Elliot Vayinthe's familiar face, stepped out. The cold and sharp tone he had wielded within the villa dissolved into something polite.
"No one suspected a thing" He remarked, peeling the silicone mask from his face with practiced precision. The illusion was gone; he was no prime minister. "Good," Lav murmured, her voice low and smooth as silk. She extended an envelope to the man—
a reward for his performance.
