"You can't do this to me—you have no goddamn right holding me like common trash!" Elena yelled shrill and frantic.
Her manicured hands strapped down brutal tight to the cold steel interrogation table with heavy police handcuffs biting deep into her wrists raw red, gold designer bracelets jangling pathetic and futile against the unyielding metal.
Ivory sipped her black coffee slow and deliberate from a steaming white styrofoam cup just outside the one-way glass window—chili pheromones steady as rock calm—watching Elena thrash wild desperate like a trapped animal, her perfectly styled updo unravelling messy across her panicked, Botox-smooth face smeared with running makeup.
"Tom, double-confirm you killed the CCTVs dead—full blackout on all angles, looped feeds tight?" Ivory asked casual over her shoulder low, steam rising lazy from the cup's rim as she blew across it soft.
