The morning light filtered through gauzy curtains, wrapping the studio in a golden haze. Eleanor stood before her mood board, pinning a swatch of deep crimson silk beside a feathered sketch of her wedding gown design. It was romantic. Dangerous. It was her.
Behind her, the front door creaked.
She turned, half expecting Chloe. Instead, she saw a flash of platinum-blonde hair, red lipstick, and a body wrapped in black leather.
It was Sasha.
"Hello, Eleanor," Sasha said with a smile that didn't quite reach her eyes. "I brought coffee. Hope you like it dark."
Eleanor blinked. "Daniel's not in yet."
"I know," Sasha said smoothly, handing her the cup anyway. "But I thought I'd come by early. See the empire you two are building."
There was a silence as thick as velvet.
"You have a lot of nerve showing up here," Eleanor said finally.
Sasha shrugged. "I'm not here to fight. Just... memories, you know? Daniel and I were magic once. I needed to see the woman who finally made him forget."
Eleanor crossed her arms. "He didn't forget. He grew."
Sasha chuckled darkly, walking slowly around the studio. "You think this is real? That he's domesticated now? He's still an artist, Eleanor. He'll always crave the chaos. I just hope you're enough to keep him still."
Before Eleanor could respond, the front door opened again.
Daniel walked in.
And froze.
"Sasha?" His voice was tight, guarded.
She turned, smiling like a serpent. "Daniel. Just stopped by to say congratulations."
He looked from her to Eleanor, then back to Sasha. "You've said it. Now leave."
Her smile faltered.
"No drinks, no talk of old times?" she asked.
"Old times are over," he said. "I love Eleanor."
Sasha's eyes glittered. "For now."
And then she left, her heels clicking a slow, deliberate rhythm on the studio floor.
---
Daniel closed the door behind her and exhaled.
"I didn't know she'd come here."
"I believe you," Eleanor said, but her voice was brittle.
Daniel moved closer, placing his hands on her shoulders. "She's the past, Elle."
"She still thinks she has a hold on you."
"She doesn't."
Eleanor searched his eyes. "Then prove it."
Daniel leaned in and kissed her—not soft, not sweet, but with urgency. His hands gripped her hips as her back met the table. Fabric scattered to the floor as he lifted her onto the edge, her legs wrapping around him.
"I love you," he whispered against her lips. "Only you."
Their mouths met again. Passionate. Possessive. Desperate to erase doubt.
But even as they made love in the daylight, tangled in silks and shadows, Eleanor felt Sasha's voice echo inside her: I just hope you're enough to keep him still.
---
Later that evening, Chloe returned from errands to find Eleanor alone at the design table, sketching with sharp strokes.
"You okay?" Chloe asked.
Eleanor didn't look up. "Sasha was here."
Chloe blinked. "Daniel's ex?"
"Yes."
Chloe smirked. "That must've been... intense."
"She still thinks he belongs to her."
Chloe tilted her head, voice silky. "Well, some people do leave a mark. Especially the ones who see artists as more than men."
Eleanor narrowed her eyes. "What do you mean?"
Chloe smiled sweetly. "Nothing, just... you never really get over your first muse, do you?"
The words felt like needles.
Eleanor stood, gathering her things. "We're done for today."
---
That night, Eleanor sat alone in her apartment, sketchbook on her lap, but her pencil unmoving. The city buzzed outside her window, but her thoughts stayed in the studio—with Daniel, with Sasha, with Chloe's cryptic words.
Was she enough?
Could passion ever truly settle into permanence?
Her phone buzzed.
Daniel: Come over. Let me hold you.
She hesitated for a breath.
Then replied: Tomorrow. I need space tonight.
---
Meanwhile, Daniel sat in his darkroom, developing photos. His hands moved automatically, but his mind replayed Sasha's visit. The way she lingered. The way Eleanor's eyes had cooled.
He picked up the latest image from the chemical bath.
It was Eleanor, asleep in his bed, tangled in a sheet of violet silk.
He stared at the image.
She is my muse now, he thought.
But in the shadows, Sasha's smirk haunted him.
And somewhere behind the walls of Burning Silk, threads were beginning to fray.