The club was transformed.
Golden lights dripped from the ceiling like stars melting into velvet, the air thick with perfume, laughter, and whispers. Tonight wasn't just another night at Oasis of Joy — it was an exclusive event. One of those nights. Black-tie, limited guest list, dangerous company.
Elara adjusted the sleek black dress Damien had sent her — no note, no explanation, just a box on her bed when she got home.
She should've known better.
Tali appeared behind her in the hallway, adjusting her lipstick. "Try not to trip over any billionaires."
Elara smirked. "That a real concern?"
Tali gave her a look. "You'd be surprised."
They walked into the main room together, where polished criminals and political monsters toasted each other like old friends. Champagne flowed. Weapons hid in tailored suits.
And then she saw him.
Damien.
Standing near the grand staircase, glass in hand, dressed like sin — dark suit, black shirt, no tie. He was talking to someone, laughing softly, but his eyes were on her.
Only her.
Until they weren't.
Bianca arrived late, of course.
Wrapped in red silk that clung to her like she was born in it. On her arm was someone vaguely important — a senator's son, maybe, or a rich boy trying to pretend he belonged. She didn't care about him.
Her eyes were already locked on Elara.
"You look tense," Lucy said, appearing at Elara's side with a glass of wine.
"I'm fine."
"Liar."
Elara forced a smile. "She's harmless."
Lucy gave a low chuckle. "No, darling. She's nuclear."
It didn't take long.
Elara was refilling drinks near the bar when it happened. A loud clink, followed by a sharp splash.
Ice-cold liquid poured down her dress — vodka and cranberry, staining black silk like blood.
"Oh no," Bianca cooed, holding an empty glass. "My hand slipped."
The entire room turned.
Silence.
Bianca looked almost apologetic, but her eyes were gleaming. "You should really watch where you stand."
Elara froze. Her body burned. The room buzzed with barely hidden smirks and fake concern.
She didn't look at Damien.
She wouldn't give him the satisfaction.
Instead, she grabbed a towel, wiped the liquid from her chest, and walked — calmly — out of the room.
She made it to the upstairs hallway before she stopped.
Her breathing was shallow. Chest tight.
Footsteps approached behind her.
She didn't need to turn to know it was him.
"Elara—"
"You didn't say anything," she said, voice cold. "You watched that happen. You let her humiliate me."
"I didn't want to escalate—"
"Bullshit." She turned, eyes sharp. "You didn't want to choose."
Damien's jaw clenched. "This isn't about Bianca."
"Then what is it about?"
He said nothing.
"Right," she snapped. "Because when it comes down to it, you don't owe me a damn thing, do you?"
"Elara."
"I thought I was more than just a contract to you."
"You are."
"Then act like it."
She stepped back.
He didn't follow.
She left him standing there in the hallway — still, silent, and watching her walk away.
Lucy found her in the back garden an hour later, smoke from someone's cigar trailing through the cold air.
"Want me to drown her in the fountain?" she asked dryly.
Elara didn't laugh.
Lucy sighed. "I told you this place would eat you alive."
Elara looked at her. "Why didn't you stop me?"
"Because sometimes you have to burn your hand to know the stove is hot."
She sipped her drink, then added, "Also, watching Damien squirm is kind of entertaining."
Later that night, Elara sat alone in her room.
She didn't cry.
She didn't scream.
She just sat.
And replayed every moment.
The way he looked at her. The way he said nothing.
And the way it all suddenly felt like a mistake.
But deep down, beneath the anger, the humiliation, and the silence —
She wasn't done with him.
Not yet.
And that scared her more than anything Bianca could ever do.