The cerulean coat, Kaveh’s coat, draped over Laleh’s simpering shoulders on the Lumen-Net post, had ignited something primal within Tashira. Not jealousy – she scorned such base emotions – but a searing, intellectual fury. Laleh had dared to flaunt a stolen patent, then a stolen journal, and now, a stolen image of intimacy. It was a calculated affront to Tashira’s intelligence, a public performance designed to undermine her new, fragile standing. The tremors, now a low, persistent thrum beneath her skin, seemed to vibrate with her indignation. She didn’t bother with the executive lifts. Tashira marched, the luxurious, unfamiliar fabric of her borrowed day-suit rustling around her, down the central stairwell of the Sapphire Spire. Each step was a deliberate, furious beat against the polished chromesteel. Her destination: the ground-floor grand lobby, the Spire’s glittering public face, where researchers mingled with investors and the Lumen-Net’s ever-present content creators captured every flicker of corporate drama. Laleh Khorasani, predictably, was already there. She stood near the central, crystalline fountain, a gaggle of low-tier Lumen-Net ‘personalities’ circling her, their portable holo-emitters casting a ghostly, shimmering glow. Laleh’s face, usually carefully composed, was now a portrait of delicate distress. Her usual cream-colored lab coat seemed to droop around her, emphasizing a manufactured fragility. As Tashira descended the final steps, Laleh caught sight of her. Her eyes, wide and luminous, instantly welled. “Tashira!” Laleh’s voice, a thin, reedy whisper, barely carried above the fountain’s murmur. “Please, you promised… you wouldn’t make a scene.” She clutched a hand to her chest, swaying faintly. A ripple of concern moved through the Lumen-Net crew. Their holo-emitters zoomed in, capturing Laleh’s trembling lower lip. Tashira stopped a few paces away, her posture rigid, a stark contrast to Laleh’s wilting form. “A scene?” she clipped. “I believe the scene was already crafted, Junior Alchemist, with my property, my reputation, and my fiancé’s outerwear as your props.” Her gaze flickered to the nearby streamers, then back to Laleh. “Tell me, Laleh, do you possess even a single original idea that isn’t a direct pilfering from someone else’s success?” Laleh’s eyes overflowed. Tears, perfectly timed, tracked paths through her careful makeup. She gasped, a small, pained sound. “Oh, Tashira, how can you be so cruel? I’m… I’m not well. Dr. Zarrin said… she said I need rest. My condition, it’s worsened. The stress… it’s too much.” She pressed her hand harder to her chest, then coughed, a soft, pathetic hack that made her shoulders quiver. One of the Lumen-Net streamers, a gaunt young man with an elaborate hair-knot, stepped forward. “Hey, back off, lady! Can’t you see she’s sick? Laleh’s been battling something awful for weeks! Show some compassion!” Tashira’s lip curled. Compassion was a weakness, a luxury she couldn’t afford. “Oh, a mysterious illness,” she drawled, her voice cutting through the rising murmurs. “How convenient. Tell me, Laleh, what exactly is ‘sick’ in your recent cosmetic foundation formulation for the Radiance line? The one you’ve been parading as your own breakthrough?” Laleh flinched, her theatrical tears faltering for a split second. “My… my foundation? It’s revolutionary! A new stabilizing agent for photobinding tinctures!” she insisted, her voice gaining a desperate edge. “Is it?” Tashira advanced, her eyes narrowed. “Walk me through the molecular structure, then. Specifically, the isomer you’ve chosen for the xenithium-based surfactant. And explain, if you please, why your patented ‘stabilizing agent’ – which, by the way, bears a striking resemblance to a discarded early draft from my own notes – has an observable pH drift of 0.7 units after 72 hours under standard atmospheric pressure, rendering it utterly useless for epidermal application. Your ‘breakthrough,’ Laleh, is so unstable it would curdle on contact with anything more acidic than purified water. It’s barely fit to clean lab drains, let alone be applied to a client’s face.” The Lumen-Net streamers, initially sympathetic, exchanged bewildered glances. The technical jargon, delivered with such venomous precision, was clearly beyond Laleh’s capacity to rebut. Her face, no longer capable of feigned tears, flushed a violent red. “I… I formulated it precisely!” Laleh stammered, her gaze darting frantically around the rotunda, searching for an escape, for a savior. “You wouldn’t understand! You’re just a disgraced fraud! Everyone knows you barely passed basic chemistry!” “Indeed,” Tashira purred, enjoying the public discomfiture. “And yet, I can still identify a flawed xenithium bond when I see one. Which, I assure you, is precisely what your mixture contains. Tell me, did you even bother to run a Spectro-chromatograph analysis, or did you just eyeball the ‘glow’?” She paused, letting the silence stretch. “You lack even the most rudimentary grasp of the principles. Your base is not merely ineffective, Laleh; it’s a bio-hazard.” A hush had fallen over the open floor. The Lumen-Net cameras, now fixed on Laleh’s crumbling composure, broadcast her humiliation to the wider city. Her earlier performance of frailty was now entirely overshadowed by her intellectual inadequacy, exposed for all of Firoza to see. Just then, the grand glass doors hissed open, and Kaveh Roshan strode in, his gaze sweeping the scene with an almost imperceptible flick. He was impeccably tailored, as always, but his expression was unreadable. Laleh’s eyes lit up with renewed, desperate hope. She took a step towards him, her 'weakness' returning in full force. “Kaveh!” she cried, her voice still weak but imbued with a fresh urgency. “Oh, Kaveh, thank the stars you’re here! Tashira… she’s been so cruel, and I feel so faint…” She stumbled, clearly intending to collapse gracefully into his waiting arms, seeking the solace and protection she had so expertly broadcast on the Lumen-Net. Kaveh, however, didn’t break stride. His gaze remained fixed on Tashira. As Laleh stumbled, he took a deliberate, smooth step to the side. Her momentum carried her forward, past his now-empty space, and she crumpled, not into a protective embrace, but onto the polished obsidian floor with an undignified thud. Her gasp of pain was real this time. He didn’t even glance at her. Instead, Kaveh reached Tashira, his hand coming up, not to her shoulder, but directly to her wrist, his fingers wrapping around it with a surprising, firm warmth. His thumb brushed over the skin just above her pulse point. “Tashira,” he said, his voice low, only for her ears, yet carrying an undeniable authority. “Are you quite finished dismantling the competition, or shall I fetch you a solvent to dissolve the remains?” His words, and the unexpected touch, grounded her racing thoughts. It wasn’t the unpleasant tremor of her soul, but something else entirely. A peculiar warmth that spread rapidly, shocking her with its unfamiliarity. He was, she realized, taking her side, utterly and unequivocally, in front of everyone. He didn’t question her actions; he merely offered further tools for her destruction. Laleh, still sprawled on the floor, looked up at Kaveh, then at Tashira’s hand in his, her face contorted with a venomous fury that ripped through her innocent facade. “You… you’ll regret this!” she shrieked, scrambling to her feet, abandoning all pretense of illness. “You think you’ve won? You haven’t won anything!” She snatched a secure-comm from her pocket, her fingers flying across the interface. “Initiate Spire-wide lockdown, Level Beta! Server purge protocol, Alpha-Seven!” she snarled into the comm, her voice echoing through the suddenly silent atrium. “Target: Legacy Alchemy Patents, Vandan. Commence deletion in sixty seconds!” A chilling, automated voice boomed through the Spire’s intercom system: “Security protocol Beta initiated. All internal servers locked. Legacy Alchemy Patents, Vandan, designated for deletion. Countdown commencing.” Fifty-nine. Fifty-eight. The tremors in Tashira’s body flared, sharp and agonizing. Her patents. Her life’s work. Her very existence, threatened with permanent erasure.

The Public Dissection