Elara stared at the address burning on her phone screen. Pansy
Garden, 10 Meridian Avenue. Prime real estate? That was an understatement.
This place practically nestled against the city centre's beating heart. Rent
here would bleed you dry – tens of thousands a month, easy. Vivian's new
boyfriend wasn't just 'doing well'; he was practically swimming in liquid gold.
By noon, Elara was buzzing through the gleaming marble
expanse of the lobby, signing the visitor's log before stepping into the
hushed, chrome elevator that whisked her soundlessly to the 38th floor. The
landing was vast and airy, serving only two imposing doors. She took a breath
and pressed the bell for the penthouse on the left.
Almost instantly, the heavy door swung open.
"Elly! You made it! Get in here!" The voice was
undeniably Vivian's, but the woman standing before her… Elara blinked, her
breath catching. Gone was the mousey, perpetually frazzled girl in faded yoga
pants and oversized tees. This Vivian was a revelation.
She was poured into a figure-hugging halter dress of pure
snow-white silk, the fabric whispering against curves now artfully showcased.
Her face, usually bare or touched with just a hint of mascara, was a
masterpiece of sculpted makeup – smoky eyes, sculpted cheekbones, lips a
perfect, glossy crimson. But the most stunning transformation was her hair.
That lifeless, perpetually scraped-back ponytail had vanished. In its place
tumbled a voluminous cascade of rich, bouncy curls, framing a face that radiated
a self-assured, almost luminous confidence Elara had never witnessed. It was
dazzling. It was, frankly, a little intimidating.
Elara's gaze, momentarily hypnotised by the sheer glamour,
snagged lower. Against the porcelain skin of Vivian's neck and collarbone
bloomed a vivid constellation of bruises – deep purples and angry reds. Even
the subtle swell of her cleavage, hinted at by the daring neckline, bore
similar, unmistakable marks. Heat flooded Elara's cheeks in a sudden, fierce
wave. She jerked her eyes away, fixing them suddenly, intently, on the abstract
art hanging in the foyer beyond Vivian.
"Wow, Viv," Elara managed, her voice tight. She
forced a smile that didn't reach her eyes. "You look... incredible.
Seriously." Her gesture towards the opulent entrance was vague, almost
dismissive. "This place... it's unreal."
Vivian beamed, the dazzling confidence softening into
genuine pleasure at the compliment. She grabbed Elara's arm, her touch cool.
"Oh, stop it! Get in here, silly! You have to see the view!" Her
enthusiasm faltered slightly as she caught Elara's flickering gaze. A flush
crept up her neck. One hand flew self-consciously towards the marks on her
chest while the other gathered her lush curls, pulling them forward like a
living curtain. "Oh! Elly, sorry..." she stammered, reaching awkwardly
for the gift box Elara held. "Please, just... come in?"
"Uh... sure," Elara mumbled, stepping past her
into an apartment that screamed luxury. Spacious, easily 1400 square feet,
decorated in cold, expensive minimalism – sleek art, plush dove-grey furniture,
and a breathtaking city panorama through vast windows. Yet, it thrummed with
the intimate clutter of a shared life. The evidence was everywhere: men's
polished leather loafers beside strappy designer sandals; a heavy silver
cigarette case and lighter on the glass coffee table next to a crystal ashtray
holding a single lipstick-stained butt; a stack of dense financial journals
fanned neatly beside a glossy fashion magazine.
Elara perched cautiously on the edge of the pristine sofa.
As she shifted, her foot snagged on something dark and crumpled peeking from
beneath the low table. She frowned, nudging it slightly with her toe. Fabric.
Heavy, black. Definitely men's.
"Ah! There it is!" Vivian yelped, diving down with
a flustered, high-pitched laugh. "God, I wondered where that vanished last
night..." She snatched up the item, balling it fiercely in her fist. But
Elara had already seen it clearly in that split second.
A pair of men's underwear.
Here. Under the coffee table. The vivid constellation
of bruises on Vivian's skin suddenly collided violently with this intimate,
discarded evidence in Elara's mind. Heat prickled up her neck, scalding her
ears. The plush sofa felt suddenly suffocating. She fought the visceral urge to
bolt upright.
"Jesus, Elly, so sorry about that," Vivian choked
out, her face crimson, the crumpled underwear hidden in her death grip.
"Just... make yourself at home? I'll be one second." She practically
fled towards a hallway, presumably leading to the bedroom.
The moment Vivian disappeared, Elara shot off the sofa like
it was electrified. She fled to the panoramic window, pressing her flushing
forehead against the bitingly cool glass, staring sightlessly at the city
sprawled below. Get it together, Elara, she commanded herself, her pulse
thrumming in her ears. It's just... life. Their life. Normal, intense...
life.
Unseen by Elara, Vivian paused in the bedroom doorway,
casting a look back. A slow, knowing smile curved her perfectly painted lips,
her eyes glinting with a sharp, secret satisfaction before she slipped silently
inside.
Precisely two minutes later, Vivian reappeared. The daring
halter dress was gone, swallowed by an oversized, impeccably white men's dress
shirt. It was buttoned haphazardly, only securing the front across her bust,
leaving her neck and the vivid constellation of bruises on her collarbone
deliberately exposed. Her voluminous curls were now ruthlessly scraped back
into a messy knot. The effect was jarring – less casual comfort, more a
calculated display of tousled, post-passion ownership. The flirtatious vixen
had been replaced by a creature radiating a different, more intimate kind of
power.
Elara felt the ground shift beneath her. This wasn't just a
change of clothes; it was a chilling metamorphosis. The Vivian she'd sat beside
just a month ago at the graduation party planning session – all shy smiles,
hunched shoulders, and eyes perpetually glued to her worn sneakers – felt like
a ghost. Who – or what – was this self-possessed, almost predatory woman
inhabiting her best friend's body?
"Elly," Vivian breathed, crossing the room to
seize both of Elara's hands. Her expression swirled with contrition and hope.
"I'm so, so sorry I didn't tell you about him sooner. Things just...
exploded. And I wasn't sure how to even begin explaining. You're not furious
with me, are you? God, Elly, you're my girl, and the thought of you being
angry..." Her voice hitched, thick with unshed tears.
"Viv, hey, of course not," Elara reassured her,
squeezing back, her smile finally reaching her eyes despite the lingering
disorientation. "It's absolute chaos for everyone right now. Aeternum must
be eating you alive, and you know I'm drowning in that tutoring gig. Honestly?
We've barely texted, let alone had a proper catch-up. Finding an amazing guy?
That's nothing to apologise for! I'm genuinely thrilled for you." She
gently nudged Vivian towards the kitchen. "Seriously, Viv, this place...
it's breathtaking. He clearly worships the ground you walk on."
Vivian's eyes instantly welled up, a beatific, dreamy
sweetness washing over her features. "He does," she whispered, the
words husky with emotion. "He loves me so completely. And I... Elly, I
love him beyond reason. More than anything in this world." The fervour in
her voice, the absolute, bone-deep conviction, struck Elara as jarringly
intense for such a short time. But she stamped down the flicker of doubt.
Happiness undeniably looked good on Vivian.
They settled at the sleek kitchen island. Vivian shooed
Elara onto a stool. "Sit! Relax!" she insisted, artfully arranging
the Lemon-Herb Chicken Piccata with Crispy Roasted Asparagus and Orzo Pilaf
onto elegant plates. "Okay, try this," Vivian urged, pushing Elara's
plate towards her with an expectant grin.
Elara took a bite. "Holy moly, Viv!" she blurted,
eyes widening. "This is restaurant-level! When did you become a culinary
goddess?" She gestured with her fork. "No wonder he's hooked.
Seriously, this has to be your secret weapon."
"Speaking of the devil, he actually wanted to join
us," Vivian said, propping her chin on her hand, a coquettish pout
forming. "Can you believe it? I told him absolutely not! This is our time.
Sisters before misters, always!" The teasing words couldn't quite mask the
possessive glow in her eyes.
Elara managed a chuckle, the savoury warmth of the food and
Vivian's radiant happiness temporarily easing her earlier discomfort. They
drifted into lighter topics – gossip about mutual acquaintances, the brutal,
never-ending winter, the exclusive Aeternum Club's Valentine's gala Vivian had
attended – the one splashed all over society pages and how this Serena Vance dazzled
the entire ballroom. Vivian uncorked a bottle of deep, velvety red wine,
generously filling two crystal glasses. "Cheers!" she declared,
lifting her glass high. "To new beginnings!"
Elara hesitated. The disastrous consequences of her last
drinking episode flashed like a warning beacon. But this was Viv's celebration.
Refusing felt like a slap. She took a cautious sip, letting the deep, spicy
warmth bloom. Just one glass. Control.
Sated and slightly drowsy, Vivian gasped dramatically.
"Oh my god, your gift! I forgot!" She sprang up, dashing back with an
obscenely plush velvet box bearing the discreet crest of 'La Perla Gemme' –
fortunes, not marketing salaries.
Vivian flipped the lid. Nestled on black silk:
breathtakingly intricate liquid-gold chains woven with minuscule, faceted
stones scattering prismatic sparks. "When he took me to Ashbourne,"
Vivian murmured, voice suddenly tender, lifting Elara's wrist. The cool metal
settled, dancing with light. "Sister bracelets. A promise until I can give
you something worthy."
Elara's breath stalled. La Perla Gemme. This cost more than
her rent. Two? Suffocating.
"Viv, stunning, but insanely expensive. You shouldn't
have had him–"
Vivian's hand slammed down, pinning hers. "You see it!
That this," she gestured wildly, "is all his world? His family is
royalty. Everything I'm not." A perfect tear fell. "I try every day
to deserve him."
Elara wiped it. "You are worthy. Him sharing his world
is his luck."
Vivian squeezed her hand. "Just like your Julian is
lucky to have you," she purred, gaze sharpening. "Fortune men kill
for."
"Julian." The name detonated in the thick silence.
Elara's smile shattered. A violent tremor locked her limbs; blood drained from
her face, leaving it stark, tombstone white. Her expression fractured—eyelashes
a frozen flutter, lips pressing into a bloodless line. Only the obsidian depths
of her eyes betrayed the churning bitterness, the suffocating gloom. Yeah.
Lucky me. The thought hit like a chokehold, a scream swallowed whole. Not a
whisper escaped her.
Vivian watched, carnivorous delight flooding her as Elara
fragmented. Triumph glacial in her eyes. Precisely.
Door shut. Silence strangled air.
Vivian shed the shirt like skin. On the sofa, she curated
photos: Elara's shattered face, the glinting bracelet, the skyline view. She
hit send, a viper-smile spreading as she imagined the recipient's reaction. Her
finger traced the vivid mark on her collarbone. The game had just begun.