(Elara POV)
The bar smells like citrus and sugar and something burnt underneath it all.
I notice that first, because noticing anything else would mean admitting I shouldn't be here.
People are standing in loose clusters, drinks in hand, laughter rising and falling in uneven waves. Someone taps a glass. Someone else claps too loudly. The deal closed successfully, and the relief has turned celebratory, careless in the way it always does when no one is worried about being watched.
I stay near the edge.
I tell myself I'll leave in ten minutes. Five, if I can manage it politely.
Tessa sees me almost immediately.
She always does.
"Elara," she says, slipping out of a group and toward me with an easy smile. "You made it."
"Yes," I reply. "Just for a bit."
Her eyes flick over me — not openly, not rudely — the way someone checks a reflection they don't quite trust.
"You look… tired," she says gently. "You've had such a stressful week."
I nod. It feels safer than speaking.
Marcus drifts closer, drink sloshing slightly as he stops too near.
"Didn't expect to see you here," he says, eyes bright with something that makes my shoulders tense. "You don't usually do these."
"I said I would," I answer.
"Well," he smiles, "guess tonight's full of surprises."
Tessa laughs softly, placing a hand on his arm as if to steady him. "Don't start," she says, but there's amusement in her voice. "Elara's just… more reserved than the rest of us."
Reserved.
The word lands heavier than it should.
"I'm going to step outside," I say.
Tessa tilts her head. "Already?"
"I need air."
Her hand brushes my elbow, light enough to be mistaken for accidental. "Don't stay out too long," she murmurs. "People notice when someone leaves early."
I don't respond. I just walk.
Outside, the noise dulls instantly, like someone's turned down the volume on the world. The night air is cooler, sharper, and my breath stutters before I can stop it. I stand there for a moment, staring at nothing, waiting for the tightness in my chest to ease.
It doesn't.
"Elara?"
I turn.
Daniel stands a few feet away, concern written openly across his face, the kind that doesn't pretend to be anything else.
"I saw you come out," he says. "I thought you might want company."
"I'm fine," I say automatically.
He doesn't argue.
He just nods, staying where he is, not crowding me, not asking questions. The kindness of it presses uncomfortably against something already sore.
Inside, the laughter swells again.
I close my eyes briefly, counting my breaths.
"That place can be a lot," Daniel says quietly.
Something in my chest loosens — just a fraction — and it scares me how close I am to losing control. I press my lips together, nodding once, and turn away so he doesn't see my face.
I almost have it. Almost.
Then my phone vibrates.
A message notification.
I look down without thinking.
It's from Tessa.
You okay?
Another vibration follows before I can decide whether to respond.
Just wanted to check — people are talking, and I don't want things to be misunderstood.
My fingers go cold.
Before I can type anything back, footsteps approach.
I look up.
Tessa stand a few feet away, the place is warm light spilling out behind, turning her silhouettes sharp against the night.
"I thought you might need a moment," Tessa says softly.
She smiles. Not warmly. Precisely.
"I hope you don't mind," she adds. "But things like this tend to… spiral if they aren't handled carefully."
Tessa lifts her phone.
She doesn't shove it in my face. She doesn't make a show of it.
She just angles the screen slightly, as if sharing something private.
On it is a photo.
Me, earlier inside — Marcus leaning too close, his hand braced near my waist, my head turned slightly away but not enough to make the moment look innocent. The angle does the rest.
My stomach drops.
Another swipe.
Me near the door, talking to Daniel, his body angled toward mine, his expression intent.
"I didn't—" I start.
Tessa touches my arm. "I know. I told them you didn't mean anything by it."
Them.
"But you understand," she continues gently, "how it looks. Especially now."
Now.
The word settles like something final.
"I didn't do anything wrong," I say, but my voice lacks conviction even to my own ears.
She studies me. "Intent isn't always what people respond to."
Tessa sighs, slipping her phone back into her pocket. "I just wanted you to be aware. So you don't… give anyone more to talk about."
They don't wait for my response.
She turns back making her way back to the pub, heels clicking softly against the pavement, their conversation already shifting to something lighter, something that doesn't include me.
I stand there, frozen.
The composure I've been holding onto all evening finally gives way.
My breath breaks first, coming in uneven gasps that I can't seem to slow down. My vision blurs, and I press my hand over my mouth, humiliated by the sound that escapes anyway.
"Elara," Daniel says quietly.
I turn toward him, and that's it.
Everything collapses at once.
"I didn't do anything," I say, the words tumbling out broken and small. "I didn't do anything, and they're acting like I—like I asked for it."
He doesn't interrupt.
He just steps forward and pulls me into his arms.
The contact is immediate relief — not heat, not tension, just solidity. His jacket is warm beneath my cheek, his hand steady at my back, anchoring me when my legs threaten to give out.
I cling to him without thinking, fingers twisting into the fabric at his side as the tears finally spill freely.
"I don't understand what I'm supposed to do," I whisper. "I try to stay invisible. I try to be careful. And it's still not enough."
"You don't need to understand it right now," Daniel murmurs. "Just breathe."
I do. Slowly. Shakily.
Across the street, someone stops walking.
I don't see him.
I don't see the way he freezes, the way his gaze locks onto the sight of me folded into another man's arms.
I don't see the pause — the moment where a decision could have gone differently.
All I know is the relief of being held when I couldn't hold myself together anymore.
And somewhere beyond that, unseen, a misunderstanding takes root and quietly begins to grow.