Elara woke with a pounding headache, each pulse in her skull echoing the chaos of the previous night. Her throat was dry, her body heavy with fatigue, and the hazy memory of the bar—and everything that had led her here—pressed against her like a dull ache.
Her phone, resting on the side drawer beside the bed, buzzed incessantly. She squinted at the bright screen, her fingers fumbling to grab it.
She left her phone before sneaking out yesterday so she wouldn't be tracked.
SMS. WhatsApp. Snapchat. Missed calls.
Each notification was a sharp reminder that the world had not stopped while she had been lost in her despair. Her heart skipped as she scrolled through the messages—some desperate, some pleading, and others accusatory.
Her hand shook as she unlocked the phone, staring at Damon's name lighting up the screen. He had called multiple times. And then there were the messages: "Elara, where are you?" "Please, answer me!" "Why did you leave?"
Her chest tightened, a mix of guilt, shame, and lingering heartbreak washing over her. She had risked everything to see him, and yet it had ended in betrayal. Her eyes stung with the memory of last night—the women, the wine, Damon's apartment and the bar.
Elara tried to ignore the endless buzzing, letting it fade into the background of her pounding headache. But one message made her pause.
It was a Snapchat DM.
[Baby… I can explain what happened. It's not what you think.]
Her thumb hovered over the screen. She wanted to swipe away, to pretend she hadn't seen it, but something—a mix of curiosity and the faint glimmer of hope—forced her to read on.
[Elara… I had nothing to do with those girls in my room. It was Lucian who brought them here. He said he wanted to crash at my place, and I agreed. I promise I was not even around when it all happened, and I didn't see or hear anything of what they did. Please… believe me. I love you so much, and I would never cheat on you.]
Elara felt a spark of happiness at the text, though her mind screamed that it didn't make sense. Yet her heart refused to listen, trembling with the thrilling, almost forbidden thought that Damon still cared for her.
At the same time, a pang of guilt twisted inside her. How could she judge his lover when she herself had betrayed that love, choosing a marriage she had never truly wanted? The thought made her chest tighten, a bitter reminder that some wounds could never be undone—and yet, a fragile hope still flickered stubbornly in her heart.
Elara's heart surged with happiness at the thought of Damon, a wild, almost reckless thrill that made her fingers itch to call him immediately. But hesitation gripped her like a vice. No—she couldn't just call. She needed to see him. She needed to fix what she had broken.
Yesterday's mistakes played in her mind like a relentless echo. She had let jealousy ruin his birthday. Last year, she had missed it entirely—locked away, teetering on the edge of a darkness she barely survived. And now… now she owed him an apology.
The contract documents could wait; she didn't care that he could find them himself. She had to be the one to give them, to personally make amends, to prove that she still cared enough to fight for this, no matter how foolish it made her seem.
For a moment, bliss washed over her, making the world outside fade. She didn't notice the change in her clothes, the subtle signature of someone who liked to assert control in ways that drove her insane.
Then she stood to leave—and froze. The outfit. His doing, of course. A familiar spark of fury ignited inside her chest, hot and unrelenting. How dare he? How dare he play with her like this, knowing exactly how it would make her feel?
The moment Elara stormed out, she collided with the butler, Mrs. Mia.
Mrs. Mia froze, her eyes widening at the sight of her mistress's fury. Carefully, she took a step back, raising her hands slightly in a gesture of caution. "Good morning, Madam. Is everything… okay?" she asked, her voice calm and respectful, knowing full well that any wrong word could ignite Elara's temper even further.
The maids and staff had long learned that when the mistress was angry, the entire household braced for a rough day.
"Where is Adrian? How could he touch me when I warned him not to?!" Elara's voice cut through the air like a blade, sharp and relentless.
Mrs. Mia's eyes widened as realization dawned. She stepped forward, trying to calm the storm. "Erm… Madam, I—" she began cautiously. "I was the one who cleaned and changed you. Sir asked me to do it yesterday when he saw you were… drunk."
Elara's shoulders slumped slightly as relief washed over her. She exhaled, the tension in her chest easing just a little.
"Also," Mrs. Mia continued, her tone gentle, "I brought you a hangover soap and some medicine." She placed the items neatly on a small table, careful to avoid further aggravating her mistress.
Elara moved with the silent precision of a thief, each step calculated, every breath measured. The guards stationed around the house were imposing, their presence meant to guard the mansion—or imprison her—but she was determined not to let them catch her.
She crept along walls and shadows, careful not to make a sound, her pulse quickening with each near miss.
Finally, she slipped past the last watchful sentinel and allowed herself a small, triumphant grin. Rolling her eyes, she muttered under her breath, "The guards aren't even efficient… a child could break through their defenses."
As Elara reached Damon's apartment, a wave of dread slammed into her, heavier and sharper than anything she had felt before. Her chest tightened, and every instinct screamed caution. She crept carefully inside, each step measured, ears straining.
The voices grew louder, sharper—no longer a vague feeling of unease. They were coming from Damon's room.
Soft murmurs, strained groans, and sharp cries filled the air, sounding almost like people trapped, desperate.
Elara froze, her heart hammering. Fear coiled inside her like a living thing, refusing to release its grip. What am I hearing? she thought, panic rising. Is this… another mistake? Another night she'll regret forever?
Her hands trembled, and for the first time in days, she felt truly powerless—torn between the need to know the truth and the terror of what she might discover.