“How many?”

Luca’s voice didn’t rise.

It didn’t need to.

The question landed in the room like a blade placed gently on a table—no movement, no sound, just certainty that it could cut whenever it decided to.

Elena kept her eyes on the sleeve.

“One is an accident,” she said quietly. “Two is negligence.”

She carefully turned the lining outward with her scissors, exposing the hidden seam.

“But this stitching pattern isn’t random.”

Bastion Vera swallowed.

Vivien’s hands had gone completely still.

Elena pointed just beneath the cuff.

“See the spacing? The thread tension changes here. Whoever did this didn’t just hide something—they reinforced it to survive movement.”

Luca looked down.

“Explain it like I’m not wearing it,” he said.

Elena nodded once.

“It was built to stay hidden during normal use… and trigger only after repeated wear.”

A pause.

Then she added:

“Which means it wasn’t meant for today.”

That changed the air again.

Vivien’s voice came out sharper than before. “You’re suggesting someone planned this around the wedding?”

Elena didn’t look at her.

“I’m saying someone planned it around Luca Moretti being alive long enough to wear it.”

The bodyguard near the door shifted his stance.

The room tightened.

Luca slowly stepped closer to the table, eyes fixed on the exposed seam.

“Where else?” he asked.

Elena didn’t hesitate.

“If I were designing a fail point,” she said, “I wouldn’t put it all in one place.”

She turned the jacket slightly.

Her fingers traced the inner lining, slow and precise, the way someone reads a language that could kill them if misinterpreted.

“There,” she said.

A second red thread.

This one thinner.

Almost elegant.

But Elena’s expression hardened the moment she saw it.

“No,” she whispered.

That single word carried more weight than any of her earlier warnings.

Luca noticed immediately. “What is it?”

Elena leaned closer.

“This isn’t just a tracker.”

Bastion let out a forced laugh. “What else could it possibly be?”

Elena finally looked up at him.

And for the first time, her voice lost its calm edge.

“A signal loop.”

Silence.

Then she explained.

“Tracking disc means someone wanted to know where he was. But this—” she tapped the red thread gently, “—this is designed to talk back.”

Vivien frowned. “Talk back to what?”

Elena’s eyes flicked toward Luca.

“To whoever stitched it.”

The room went colder.

Even the bodyguards stopped moving.

Luca stared at the second thread.

“You’re saying it transmits,” he said.

“I’m saying it could trigger a second action,” Elena replied. “Depending on proximity. Heat. Movement. Or—”

She stopped.

Luca finished it for her.

“Heart rate.”

No one spoke after that.

Because everyone in the room understood exactly what that meant without needing it translated.

Vivien stepped back a fraction.

“That’s impossible,” she whispered.

Elena shook her head.

“It’s just expensive.”

Luca turned slowly toward Bastion.

Not quickly.

Not angrily.

That was worse.

“You made this suit,” he said.

Bastion’s face went pale. “I designed it. I didn’t—Luca, I swear I didn’t—”

Elena cut in immediately.

“He didn’t sew it,” she said. “But he knew who did.”

Bastion froze.

That pause was enough.

Luca saw it too.

“You hesitated,” Luca said softly. “That’s a confession where I come from.”

Bastion’s mouth opened, then closed again.

No words came out.

Vivien turned sharply toward him now. “Bastion… what did you do?”

The wedding planner’s voice cracked.

“I didn’t know it would be active,” he said quickly. “I was paid to integrate a lining module. That’s all. It was supposed to be decorative tech—sensor embroidery for the reception lights, nothing more.”

Elena’s gaze sharpened instantly.

“Who paid you?”

Bastion shook his head too fast. “I can’t—”

Luca took one step closer.

And Bastion stopped speaking.

The silence after that was total.

Elena carefully placed the jacket back down.

“There’s one more thing,” she said.

Luca didn’t look away from Bastion. “Say it.”

Elena’s fingers hovered over the cuff again.

“If this was meant to activate,” she said, “it wouldn’t target the wearer first.”

A pause.

Then she added:

“It would target whoever is closest when it does.”

Vivien went still.

Very still.

Because she was standing exactly where someone planning this would expect a bride—or someone controlling the room—to stand.

Slowly, Luca turned his head.

Not toward Bastion.

Not toward Elena.

Toward Vivien.

And for the first time in the entire room…

Her diamonds didn’t look like jewelry anymore.

They looked like timing devices.