The poor side of town never slept, not really. Voices carried from the alleys, laughter too sharp to be safe, glass shattering somewhere too far to matter. Elma leaned against her window, cigarette between her fingers, watching the neon-pink blur of a liquor store sign flicker against the cracked pavement.
Calista had been gone for hours, vanishing into the night like a jewel smuggled out of its own setting. But the air still smelled of her perfume. The sheets still held her heat. Elma's body still ached with the memory of silk sliding over ruined fabric.
She smirked to herself, exhaling smoke. She'll come back. She can't stay away now.
The system chimed.
[Rumor Update]
Story seed spreading: The CEO's wife sneaks into the gutters.
Circulation: 3% and rising.
Risk Factor: Critical.
Elma's grin faded. If word spread, it wouldn't be Calista who burned first. It would be her.
By the time she returned to the mansion, the house was dressed in silence. Too clean. Too careful. Nitron's domain always hummed like a predator at rest, but tonight the quiet was heavier, weighted with intent.
Kade met her at the door. His eyes flicked to the faint wrinkle in her dress, the smell of smoke on her skin. He said nothing, just bowed and gestured her inside.
Nitron was waiting in the west library again. No glass of wine this time. No fire. Just him, seated behind a desk of black stone, fingers steepled, eyes unreadable.
"Elma," he said, voice flat.
She crossed the room, heels clicking. "Master."
"Tell me," he said. "Why is my name being whispered with filth in the gutters tonight?"
Her pulse jumped, but her smile didn't. "Because your rivals can't compete, so they make up stories."
His gaze sharpened. "Stories about my wife?"
Elma kept her head high, though her stomach coiled. "Rivals would say anything to wound you. You taught me that yourself."
The silence stretched. Then Nitron stood, circling the desk. He moved slow, deliberate, every step pulling the air tighter. His hand brushed her shoulder, not tender—measuring. Testing.
"You reek of smoke," he murmured at her ear. "And of something else."
Her throat went dry.
The system chimed.
[Leash Check: Active]
Loyalty threshold: 59%
Warning: Approaching breach condition.
Nitron's fingers tightened briefly at her neck, then released. He smiled without warmth. "Prove them wrong, Elma. Tomorrow you'll meet with House Thorn. You'll break their envoy so completely that the only thing left in their mouths will be my name."
"Yes, Master," she said, steady.
But as he dismissed her, the weight in his eyes told her he wasn't convinced.
Calista was waiting in the corridor outside, dressed in midnight blue, her beauty sharpened to an edge. She looked Elma over once—at the wrinkle, the faint red mark at her throat from Nitron's grip—and her jaw clenched.
"You let him touch you again."
Elma arched a brow. "Jealous?"
Calista's laugh was soft and bitter. "Of course I am. Do you think I enjoy watching him pull your strings while I… while I can only steal moments in the dark?"
Elma leaned closer, lips ghosting Calista's ear. "You came to the gutters for me. You'd burn your crown if I asked."
Calista's breath hitched. She turned her face away, voice low. "And that terrifies me more than him."
They stood in silence, too close, too exposed in the corridor. Elma wanted to drag her back into her chambers, tear the mask off her again. But heavy footsteps echoed down the hall—guards, staff, maybe Nitron himself—and the moment shattered.
Calista swept away without a word, her gown whispering like fire retreating into smoke.
Elma exhaled, steadying herself. She could feel the leash tightening, could feel the rumors curling like smoke through the city.
[Global Rumor Meter: 14%]
Consequence Pending: If circulation reaches 25%, House Thorn will move.
The triangle wasn't desire anymore. It was a countdown.