She leaned closer, zooming in until the pixels blurred. It wasn’t a coincidence. Lila hadn’t "found" the Charleston story; she had been there for the birth of it.
She clicked through more archives. There was Lila narrating from the Charleston battery. Lila speculating about Eleanor’s "ambition." Lila questioning whether a female defense attorney’s "closeness" to the prosecution had tainted the state’s case, with enough phrasing to make it sound like concern rather than an accusation.
Lila Grant had built the foundation of her career on the carcass of Eleanor’s last life. The very media storm that had been so relentless, so personal, and so profitable for the network was the reason Eleanor had left Charleston. It was the reason she had rebuilt here, quietly and deliberately.
“She followed me,” Eleanor whispered.
The realization was a physical weight. Lila hadn't come to Sylva for the missing women. She hadn't come for the "Valley Ghost." She had come for Eleanor Harper.
Eleanor shut the laptop with a sharp snap.
Going to dinner with Reid Calloway wasn’t just a bad idea anymore. It was exactly the kind of story Lila Grant had built an entire career around.
The defense attorney. The district attorney. Charleston all over again—only prettier. Better lighting. A mountain backdrop. And just as dangerous.
She should cancel.
She should.
Instead, she stared into the dark, hearing his voice in the hallway.
Be ready, Ellie.
And hated that some small, reckless part of her already was.
15
Eleanor — Getting Ready
Eleanor stood in front of her closet, as if it were a jury.
This was absurd.
It was dinner.
Not a deposition.
Not a motion hearing.
Not an ambush.
Dinner.
And she was absolutely going to end it.
She pulled out a navy sheath dress.
Professional. Clean. Safe.
“That’s tragic.”
April’s voice floated from the doorway.
Eleanor didn’t turn. “It’s appropriate.”
“For court,” April replied, stepping fully into the room with a glass of wine. “Not for dinner with the best-looking man in Sylva.”
“We are not ranking attorneys.”
