Victoria lived in a world where status was obvious. Loud. Displayed.
And Elena didn’t fit.
So when Victoria approached her assigned seat in first class and saw Elena sitting calmly by the window, reading a worn paperback, she stopped short.
“There must be some mistake,” Victoria said, her voice sharp but controlled.
Elena looked up briefly.
“Is there?”
“That’s my seat.”
Elena glanced at the seat number, then back at her.
“No,” she said gently. “It’s mine.”
That should have been the end of it.
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