The villa was too quiet.
Too perfect.
The kind of silence that made Elara feel like she was being watched — even when she was alone.
Which, lately, was most of the time.
Aurora had started disappearing again.
No explanations. No warnings.
Just gone.
For hours. Sometimes all night.
Elara wanted to tell herself she didn't care. That Aurora wasn't hers. That this wasn't real.
But her fingers still traced the ghost of Aurora's lips on her skin.
Her breath still hitched when she caught the scent of that expensive perfume lingering on her clothes.
And her legs still went weak when she remembered how it felt to be wanted by someone that dangerous.
---
On the fifth day of Aurora's vanishing act, Elara was invited to a party.
Technically, it was Aurora's party.
But she didn't tell Elara.
The invitation came through a servant. Simple. Icy.
> "You're expected at 9 PM. Wear red."
---
Red?
Elara didn't even own red. She barely owned anything that wasn't thrifted or secondhand.
Still, when she arrived that night — in the only red dress the stylists could find in the house — she felt like prey walking into a den full of predators.
The estate was transformed into a glowing maze of lights, smoke, champagne, and danger.
Everyone looked rich. Everyone looked fake.
And at the center of it all…
Was Aurora.
---
Wearing a wine-red gown so bold, it made Elara feel naked.
Her hair was in a high, fierce bun. Her heels made her look seven feet tall.
And her lips?
The same blood-red that haunted Elara's dreams.
But what truly gutted her… was the woman on Aurora's arm.
---
Tall. Blonde. Foreign.
Beautiful in a cruel, aristocratic way.
And laughing—laughing—at something Aurora whispered in her ear.
They looked like a couple. They looked perfect.
Something inside Elara snapped.
---
She turned around. Started walking out.
But she didn't make it far.
"Leaving so soon?"
A voice behind her — low, teasing, venomous.
Aurora.
Elara didn't turn. "Didn't know I'd be the third wheel."
"Oh, baby," Aurora purred behind her, voice thick with mockery. "You're not even on the bicycle."
Elara whirled around. "Then why invite me?"
Aurora leaned closer, her breath brushing Elara's cheek. "Because you belong to me. And I want everyone to see what I own."
Elara's heart stuttered. "I'm not an object."
"Then stop acting like one," Aurora snapped. "You want to be fucked like a woman? Start behaving like one."
---
The words hit like a slap.
People around them watched—some with curiosity, some with pity.
And yet…
Elara didn't move.
Didn't leave.
Instead, she lifted her chin and whispered, "Is that why you brought your pet blonde? To make me jealous?"
Aurora's eyes darkened. "She's not my pet. She's a mistake. Like you."
Then she smiled.
But it was the kind of smile that came before a storm.
---
Hours passed. Music blared. Champagne flowed.
And Elara sat alone on the balcony, watching the stars and trying not to cry.
Until she felt a presence behind her.
Not Aurora.
The blonde.
She introduced herself as Liliane.
Said she used to "work with" Aurora.
But her smile said something more.
"She never told me about you," Liliane said, sipping her drink. "Strange. She usually brags about her toys."
Elara stiffened. "I'm not a toy."
Liliane smirked. "No. You're a problem."
---
The tension was thick — but it cracked when Aurora appeared behind them, silent as a ghost.
Liliane smiled sweetly. "We were just talking about you."
Aurora's jaw clenched. "Elara. Inside. Now."
Elara hesitated.
Liliane touched her arm. "She doesn't own you."
Aurora's voice turned to ice. "Touch her again and I'll break your wrist."
Elara didn't know whether to be angry… or aroused.
So she walked inside.
---
The moment they were alone in Aurora's private study, the explosion came.
"You brought her just to make me jealous!" Elara shouted, breath ragged.
"You were already jealous," Aurora said calmly, locking the door.
"Why are you like this?" Elara's voice cracked. "Why do you treat me like something disposable and then act like I'm yours?"
Aurora stepped closer. Slow. Dangerous.
"I told you, Elara," she whispered. "I don't do love. I don't do softness."
"I never asked for your love!" Elara screamed. "I just want you to be real."
Aurora's lips curled.
"Fine."
And then she kissed her.
---
Hard.
Violent.
Desperate.
She shoved Elara against the wall, hands gripping her waist like she was the last fix to a brutal addiction.
Their mouths clashed — biting, breathless, raw.
It wasn't sweet.
It was war.
And Elara surrendered.
---
Later — as they lay tangled on the black leather couch, bruised and breathless — Aurora whispered something Elara had never expected to hear.
"You think I'm cruel because I hurt you."
A pause.
"But, baby… I'm cruel because I've been worse than you can imagine."
Elara turned to her, blinking. "What does that mean?"
Aurora didn't answer.
She only kissed her again.
Softer this time.
Almost… like regret.
The next morning, Elara woke up alone in Aurora's bed.
But Aurora was gone.
And this time…
She hadn't left a note.
Only a red lipstick kiss mark on Elara's collarbone.
And one sentence scribbled on the mirror:
> "Don't look for me."