The guest hall of Nitron's estate was never meant to feel intimate. Its walls were white stone polished until they glowed, its chandeliers hung high, dripping crystal like icicles, and its silence was the kind that screamed wealth and discipline. Elma wasn't supposed to even be here—this was a place for investors, aristocrats, and Nitron's endless list of demonic clients.
But Calista Vale had insisted.
The CEO's wife swept into the room first, her heels tapping like a judge's gavel, her sharp perfume cutting through the air. She didn't even glance back at Elma until the doors whispered shut, locking them both inside.
"You walk too close to him," Calista said, her voice calm but lined with venom. "Nitron tolerates it. I don't."
Elma smirked, leaning against the long banquet table. "If you were really that mad, you wouldn't have dragged me in here alone."
A muscle flickered in Calista's cheek, the only betrayal of her composure. She moved closer, every step graceful but dangerous, like a panther circling prey. "You think this is a game? Girls from the gutter don't last long in houses like this. You forget your place."
Elma tilted her head, letting her hair spill over one shoulder. "Funny. Because you're the one trembling just standing this close to me."
Calista froze, her hand lifting as if to strike, but instead she pressed her palm flat against Elma's collarbone. The touch was supposed to feel like dominance, but Elma saw the tension in her knuckles, the way her breath faltered.
"You're reckless," Calista whispered, her voice lower now. "Reckless enough to get both of us killed."
Elma stepped forward, forcing Calista back against the edge of the table. Their faces hovered inches apart, the heat between them thicker than the silence. "Maybe. But you didn't pull me here to scold me. You wanted this."
Calista's eyes flared. She hated being read, hated her polished mask cracking. But when Elma brushed her lips against hers—just a tease, a whisper of contact—the wife didn't push her away. She leaned in.
The kiss broke her restraint. Calista gripped Elma's waist, pulling her closer, the cold edge in her demeanor melting into something raw and desperate. Their mouths collided fully, tongues clashing, heat pouring out in waves that drowned the immaculate chill of the hall.
Elma moaned softly, deliberately, letting the sound echo through the cavernous room. Calista stiffened, terrified someone might hear, but the thrill only sharpened the moment. She pushed Elma harder against the table, their hips grinding, bodies fitting together with dangerous familiarity.
"You're playing with fire," Calista gasped between kisses, her nails digging into Elma's side.
"I like the burn," Elma shot back, her voice husky. She slid her fingers up Calista's thigh, slow and taunting, until the woman shivered.
Calista caught Elma's wrist, but instead of stopping her, she guided it higher, pressing Elma's hand where she needed it most. The contact made her eyes flutter shut, her controlled breathing breaking into ragged gasps.
"Damn you," she hissed, but her hips rolled into Elma's touch, betraying every word.
Elma pressed her advantage, slipping fingers along soft silk and hot skin, teasing Calista until she was grinding against the table, every ounce of her elegance unraveling. Elma kissed down her neck, sucking hard enough to leave a mark, grinning at the thought of Nitron seeing it later.
Calista's response was to seize Elma's jaw, forcing their mouths back together, her tongue demanding, claiming. But Elma didn't submit—she fought back with equal hunger, turning every kiss into a battle neither of them wanted to win.
Minutes blurred. Heat built. The risk of discovery only made Calista dig her nails deeper, made Elma push harder. When Calista finally climaxed, her body trembled violently, her moan muffled against Elma's mouth, her pride shattered in the span of a heartbeat.
For a moment they just stood there, tangled, chests heaving, sweat glistening under the chandelier light.
Then reality slammed back in.
Calista shoved Elma away, her expression snapping back into something icy, dangerous. Her lips were swollen, her clothes wrinkled, but her tone was sharp as ever. "This never happened. If you so much as breathe a word, I'll destroy you."
Elma straightened, licking her lips slowly, a smirk tugging at her mouth. "Sure, princess. But we both know you'll come back for more."
The doors to the hall creaked faintly as if someone had passed by outside. Both women froze, hearts hammering. No one entered, but the warning was clear: they were balancing on a knife's edge.
Calista gathered herself, adjusted her dress, and swept out of the room without another glance.
Elma stayed behind, leaning on the table, smiling to herself. She had just discovered something more dangerous than any rival Nitron could throw at her.
And she wasn't about to let it go.