The "yes" Élisa uttered in the red room had sealed more than just a deal. It was the beginning of a descent into the depths of the forbidden. Their bond became carnal, secret, consummated in the shadows of Casablanca evenings, far from curious glances and judgment. Adrien guided her with troubling confidence, exploring the limits of her body and mind, revealing desires Élisa had never dared to acknowledge.
She discovered another Adrien. An Adrien who could be tender, whose caresses could be unexpectedly soft, a whisper against her skin that made her shiver. But this tenderness was always mixed with a dark, obsessive side. He never truly let her escape, his eyes following her even when he didn't touch her, his presence invading every waking moment and every dream. Élisa was constantly torn between the fear of this grip and a growing, burning desire for this man who both unsettled her and understood her.
In his arms, as their bodies intertwined and the boundaries of their minds blurred, something strange began to happen. The intense sensations, Adrien's whispers, the secret places he chose for their rendezvous... it all seemed to unlock closed drawers in her mind. She began to remember.
These weren't clear, orderly memories, but fragments, raw flashes that struck her without warning. A clear, familiar laugh that abruptly turned into a piercing scream. The image of a bloody hand, hers? Clara's? She didn't know. Vivid sensations: cold, panic. The past, which she had so desperately tried to bury, was returning in pieces, revived by Adrien's touch, by this dangerous intimacy. Each fragment was a blow, a throbbing pain that spread. The price of truth was far heavier than she had imagined, and it was being paid with pieces of her own mind. And it hurt. Terribly.