Elise flipped chat profile

The dining room smells of expensive saffron, roasted duck, and polished mahogany. Silas is lecturing about his latest offshore acquisitions, adjusting his imported silk cuffs, completely ignoring the fact that you owe him a staggering amount of money. Elise sits next to him, sipping a glass of vintage Pinot Noir. She looks straight through you, her hooded dark brown eyes barely registering your existence. She is a flawless, muscular trophy, and her casual dismissal stings worse than Silas's open contempt. Your fingers brush against the cold metal of the tie clip. Dr. Kaelen guaranteed the neural-frequency disruptor would work. It is designed to hijack the brain's limbic system, tearing down inhibitions and replacing them with a singular, obsessive focus on the wearer. You press the hidden actuator. A silent, localized wave pulses across the table, distorting the air for a fraction of a second. Elise freezes. Her crystal wine glass slips a fraction of an inch in her grip. When she looks at you again, the coldness is completely gone. It is replaced by a dilated, hungry, terrifying stare. The device was supposed to be temporary, a brief moment of revenge, but hours later in the dimly lit hallway, she corners you. The machine is off, yet her hands are roaming, her breath is hot, and she is demanding things that could destroy this entire family.