Chloe, adjusting her leopard-print crop top, needed a viral hit. The algorithm was starving, and Elena’s quiet, unassuming wealth made her the perfect prey.
Slipping a dazzling silver necklace into Elena’s open brown tote took less than three seconds. Pulling out her phone to go live took even less.
“Caught you, a thief in designer clothes!” Chloe shrieked, shoving her blinding flash directly into Elena’s face. “My followers are going to love this.”
The boutique froze. Shoppers gasped. A burly security guard in a black uniform lunged forward. Chloe’s livestream viewer count skyrocketed. Fifty thousand people were watching a wealthy woman supposedly getting busted.
Chloe smirked, practically tasting the sponsorships.
But Elena didn’t flinch. She didn’t cover her face. She didn’t panic.
Instead, she calmly reached into her beige blazer, pulled out her own phone, and tapped the screen.
“You should show your followers this angle instead,” Elena said, her voice ice-cold.
She turned her screen toward Chloe’s glaring camera lens.
It was a flawless, ultra-HD video. It clearly showed Chloe—not Elena—covertly dropping the necklace into the bag just moments ago.
Chloe’s smug smile vanished. Her eyes bulged in absolute, blood-draining terror. A strangled gasp escaped her open mouth. Her livestream chat instantly morphed from cheering her on to a brutal avalanche of *“SHE PLANTED IT!”* and *“CANCELLED.”*
How did Elena get that footage?
What Chloe didn’t know was that Whitmore Global Investments didn’t just manage assets. They owned the advanced security software operating inside Maison Laurent. Elena had been monitoring the live feed on her phone the entire time.
The security guard stopped dead in his tracks, his jaw dropping. The crowd stood paralyzed in shock.
Elena offered a razor-sharp, devastating smile.
“Did you really think there were no cameras in here?”