Elara was sprawled across her bed in a hoodie and shorts, eyes on the ceiling, earbuds in, trying to drown out the world. Her phone buzzed relentlessly beside her, but she ignored it.
Until the door opened.
She sat up slightly, tugging out one earbud.
Clara, her maid, entered with quiet footsteps, holding a sleek black box tied with silver ribbon.
She placed it gently on the edge of Elara's bed and gave a small bow.
"A delivery for you, Miss Elara. It came through the private entrance. From Z.V. Holdings."
Elara raised an eyebrow but said nothing.
Clara added softly, "Is there anything else you'll need?"
Elara shook her head. "No. Thank you."
With a polite nod, Clara turned and left the room, closing the door behind her with a quiet click.
Silence settled.
Elara stared at the box.
Her first instinct was to hurl it out the window. But curiosity got the better of her.
She pulled the ribbon loose, flipped open the lid—
And blinked.
Inside was a glossy black mug with a gold rim. Simple. Expensive. Annoying.
On one side:
A high-resolution image of her glare at the press conference—captured at the exact moment she turned toward Zayden with pure contempt.
On the other:
> "National Playboy? I think not."
— Elara Blake, Destroyer of Delusion
Her jaw dropped.
She pulled out the small card underneath.
> To my stunning fiancée,
Thanks for the best public humiliation I've ever experienced. Truly unforgettable.
Warm regards, with actual warmth,
— Z.V.
Elara threw her head back onto the pillow with a groan.
"He thinks this is funny."
But a small twitch betrayed her lips.
Typical Zayden Vale. He turned an insult into a flirtation. And now the mug—her glare immortalized—sat in her room like a trophy.
She sat up, placed the mug on her nightstand, and stared at it.
"…He wants to play?"
She leaned back slowly.
"Fine."
Her eyes narrowed.
"Let's play."