Elara hadn't slept. Not a second.
Her thin blanket did nothing against the cold creeping in from the broken window, but it wasn't the air that made her shiver—it was Aurora. Her voice. Her touch. That cruel smirk that both burned and branded her.
Why did I let her see me like that?
She sat up in her narrow bed, ignoring the rumble in her stomach. There was barely enough food for her little brother. Rent was due in four days. She didn't have the luxury of lusting after women who wore silk robes and drank red wine from crystal.
But when her phone buzzed, her hands still trembled as she picked it up.
Aurora:
> Come to the penthouse. 7PM. Wear something that doesn't look like a donation box reject.
Elara stared at the message. Then again. And again.
She should say no. She should block the number. She should protect what little pride she had left.
But instead, she walked to the charity store around the corner and picked out the only black dress that didn't smell like mothballs.
---
7:04 PM – Aurora's Penthouse
The elevator doors slid open to reveal a world Elara still wasn't used to. Velvet walls. Glass chandeliers. A scent like danger and vanilla.
Aurora was on the phone, seated on her cream leather couch, legs crossed, eyes sharp. She didn't look up.
"I said I don't care what the board thinks," she said coldly. "If they touch my company again, I'll bury them with their own contracts."
Elara stood awkwardly, clutching her jacket around her cheap black dress.
When Aurora finally ended the call, her eyes found Elara—and narrowed.
"That's what you chose to wear?" she asked, standing. "You still look like you begged someone richer to unzip it first."
Elara flushed. "It's the best I could afford."
Aurora walked over slowly. Like a predator circling.
"I could dress you in silk," she said, brushing a strand of Elara's hair behind her ear. "I could put you in heels, diamonds, perfume that makes people turn their heads when you pass."
"Why?" Elara whispered. "Why do you care what I wear?"
"I don't." Aurora's voice dropped to a breath. "I care what I own."
Elara's heart jumped.
"I'm not something you can own."
Aurora's fingers trailed along her collarbone. "No? Then why did you come when I called?"
Elara stepped back, blinking rapidly. "You're playing with me."
"I'm breaking you," Aurora corrected, with a smirk. "And the most beautiful thing about broken things? They stop pretending to be strong."
Elara's eyes welled up. "You think I'm weak?"
"I think you're mine," Aurora said simply.
And before Elara could reply, Aurora leaned in and kissed her—not soft, not sweet, but possessive. Like she was claiming her.
Elara gasped against her lips but didn't pull away.
It was wrong.
It was fast.
But it was everything she'd never been allowed to feel.
When Aurora finally pulled back, she didn't smile.
"Tell me I don't belong here," Elara whispered.
Aurora stared at her like a queen regarding a piece of art she wasn't sure whether to hang or burn.
Then she said softly, "You don't. But you will. Once I'm done with you."
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