Lyra sat before the large mirror in her room. Her reflection stared back—restless eyes glimmering not just with jealousy, but with an obsession polished by ambition. She picked up a deep red lipstick, tracing a sharp line across her lips, then slowly smudged it as though every stroke was a vow of determination.

“I won’t let you take what should be mine, Vania,” she whispered, her voice soft but laced with venom.

Over the past few days, Lyra had watched how Vania’s name and Arga’s were more frequently mentioned together. Even though the media continued to attack Vania, Arga’s constant presence at her side made the woman look stronger than...