Ophelia
The mansion perched above the water on white stone terraces, basking in air tinged with lemon and salt. Inside, crystal chandelier light spilled into every corner. Marble floors glimmered as staff glided in a practiced rhythm. In the corner, a quartet played music, crisp and bright as glass.
Eleanor walked a half step ahead of me in a black silk dress that poured over her frame. Her brown eyes glinted under chandeliers. Her smile was razor-sharp and soft at once. Men followed her with their gaze and sometimes their steps, but she slipped past them without hesitation. Her focus was forward. She didn't care. This was her element. Her smile matched the room; her eyes did not. Dominic stayed at her side, tall and powerful. He wore a dark suit and a calm posture.
He filled the space without a sound. One of her father's men intercepted them, offered a handshake, and introduced himself. They stopped and listened. I watched.
"This is a hostage situation," Eleanor said under her breath.
"You promised an hour," Dominic said.
"I did. I did not promise enthusiasm," she hissed.
"You never do," he snorted.
"I promised to breathe the same air as you," she says. "I did not promise to be delighted."
His mouth tilts. "Try not to set anyone on fire."
"I left my matches in the car," she says, and then she smiles at a duchess as if she did not just threaten arson. I love her most when she is like this: sharp-edged, beautiful, and bristling with irritation. Vincent is on my other side, careful hand at my waist, careful smile on his mouth. He smells like cedar and expensive things. He keeps touching me, as if to remind the room that we still make sense. I let him walk me inside, but I hate the intimacy he tries to fake. I love the sound my red heels make on stone and how the red silk moves when I walk. I do not like pretending I belong to this circle. It makes my skin buzz. The walls seem to whisper my name and ask for my price.
We slip into the golden haze. The servers pass by, each gliding with crystal flutes. I take one.
Champagne tastes like chilled light, a whispered untruth. The quartet's music floats, weightless, above the crowd.
"Smile," Eleanor says, eyes on a cluster of investors.
"I am smiling," I say. "On the inside."
Dominic hears me and glances over. His eyes flick down my dress and back up to my face in a single respectful sweep. "Your friend looks like trouble," he tells Eleanor.
"She is," Eleanor says. "That is why I brought her. I need to have someone I like in this room."
"Charmed," I say.
Dominic's mouth almost softens. "So am I."
"Do not be," Eleanor says. "You'd never survive us."
They are always like this: snapping at each other, voices tight, glances sharp, because it is safer than admitting how the air thickens, electric, between them. When Dominic looks at Eleanor, he does it with longing, as if she is the edge of the world; when she looks at him, I see defiant yearning in her eyes, like a storm she pretends not to want. She could fool others, but not me; I know her too well. Still, I let her pretend and do not show what I see. Vincent leans closer. "You look incredible," he says softly. "Stay by me. I will introduce you
around."
"Introduce me to the dessert table," I say. "That is the only true love in this room."
Dominic's mouth shifted in amusement. "Reasonable."
Vincent laughs, and for a moment, we are almost friends again. When he reaches for my waist, I step away. His hand finds air. Shame flickers in his eyes, and for a heartbeat, I want to say I'm sorry, but my body has drawn the line, and I let it.
"Do not abandon me," Eleanor says, eyes on a cluster of investors.
"I would never," I say. "Unless I see the dessert table. Then all bets are off."
Dominic's mouth tilts. "Priorities. Good."
"Your tie is trying too hard," Eleanor tells him without looking.
"I wore it because you hate it," he says.
"Congratulations. It is working," she gives him an obvious fake smile.
We make a lap of the hall. Names bloom and fade. I meet a producer, then a princess who says my hair breaks hearts. Eleanor delivers perfect nods and perfect insults with the same mouth.
Dominic murmurs reminders about the east salon. She pretends not to hear him, then goes exactly where he told her. I watch them; they do that a lot.
We moved under the chandelier. Servers carried champagne. I took a glass. It was cold and not too sweet.
Dominic leaned in to quietly correct a detail for her father's man. Eleanor seemed to ignore
Dominic, but then she subtly adjusted her behavior, just as he had suggested, without acknowledging it. They carried out this routine without hesitation: he guided lightly, she resisted publicly but always complied in the end. Vincent touched my elbow. "Stay near me," he says, then looks me in the eyes. "You look so beautiful it hurts a little,"
"That is the shoes," I say. "They are weapons." I wink.
"I can be your bodyguard," he says." You do not need weapons."
"You are my ex," I cut. "Do not promote yourself."
He laughs, the sound soft and hopeful. I do not try to hurt him. He slides an arm around me, steering me toward a group. I step a half pace away. His hand meets empty air. He notices and silently accepts my rebuff.
A prickling weight settles between my shoulders. Nerves rake the nape of my neck. My body flinches before my mind understands, feels as if a predator's gaze has found me. I kept my eyes on Eleanor's earrings and counted three breaths. On the fourth, I turned and looked around, only to meet a pair of brown eyes fixated on me.
He stood near the arch to the gallery.
Oh, my God, why?!
Dante.
God help me.
He stood near the far archway, towering over the room, his dark suit clinging to broad shoulders and shadowed muscle. His hair fell carelessly across his brow, but his eyes, those burning, merciless eyes, locked on me like I'd never escaped him at all.
Everything in me stutters. Breath snags. Mind blanks. I am suspended, cut loose from time, pulse racing in the pit of my stomach.
Vincent touched my waist, guiding me closer to the bar. My chest tightened, heart thudding hard enough I feared he could feel it through my skin. A wild tangle of panic and longing surged through me, burning fierce and humiliating, until even Vincent's gentle pressure grated on raw nerves I couldn't hide.
I risked another glance.
He started moving, weaving through the glittering crowd with a calm that felt dangerous. Every step brought him closer. Every moment made it harder to breathe. Panic clawed inside me. No. Not here. Not now.
Sound thinned. Light steadied. He was taller than I remembered, or rather, the way I remembered or perhaps the suit made him appear that way. Black, precise, broad through the chest. His gaze locked on mine and stayed there.
Heat spreads under my skin. My breath stutters; pulse throbs. I hate that he undoes me from a room away. I hate how easy it is.
He is not alone. Katerina glides at his elbow in burgundy silk. It looks like she was poured on her and told to behave. Diamonds sit on her throat and hand like small pieces of winter. The stone on her finger catches the chandelier and throws it back at me. Metal floods my mouth, sharp and cold. She is the woman from my dreams. My executioner in another life. My step-sister in this one. She is the reason I vanished before he could speak. She is the reason I blocked him everywhere a person can be blocked.
Vincent felt me tense. His hand tightened. "What is it?" he asked.
"Nothing," I said.
He followed my line. His jaw set. "Of course."
"Not now," I said. "Please."
He took my plea as permission, for some reason. His arm circled my waist, and I let him this time. It looked like care, but to me, each second felt branding, a possession I wanted to tear away.
Across the room, Dante started toward me.
He did not weave. People made room without thinking about why. Conversations paused, then resumed behind him. He did not look at Vincent. He did not look at anyone else. His attention stayed on me, and it did not slip.
My mouth dries to dust. I dig nails into glass. I want to run, but my feet root me in place; tension is ringing in my bones.
Eleanor saw my face change and traced my sightline. Her chin lifted by a degree. Her fingers brushed my wrist, quick and steady. Dominic adjusted his position by an inch. The subtle shift said he was ready to be useful.
Dante stopped in front of me.
Heat came with him. He stood close enough that the fine hairs along my arms lifted.
"Ophelia," he says.
My name in his mouth steals a second heart from me. I found my voice because I practiced pretending I am fine.
"Dante," I say. "I thought this party was for families."
His eyes flick once to Vincent's hand on my waist. They return to me. "So did I."
Katerina arrives half a step behind him. "Ophelia," she says, polite and bright. "How lovely."
I taste metal. "Katerina," I say.
Vincent speaks to Dante. "You are not invited to this circle."
Dante does not turn. He does not even tilt his head. His attention pins me exactly where I stand.
"We need to talk," he says.
"No," I answer. "We do not."
"We do," he says. His voice is low and steady, a command dressed as a suggestion. "You vanished."
"I corrected a mistake," I say.
His jaw works once. "Is that what you call it?"
Eleanor touches my wrist. "We can leave if you want," she says.
I shake my head. I can't tell if I'm brave, reckless, or just incapable of retreating when I should.
Maybe all three.
Vincent steps in front of me, a barrier I did not ask for. "She said no," he says to Dante.
"You blocked me, you cut me off," he said. "I want the reason. From you."
"You are getting nothing," I said. "That is the reason."
His jaw worked once. His voice dropped. "You vanished. If there is a reason, I will hear it from you."
"I chose what kept me steady."
His eyes fell to Vincent's arm at my waist. He cringed at the sight in disgust. He did not turn his
head. He looked back at me. "Take it off, or .."
I cut him off, " Or what?"
Vincent tightened his hold. "She is with me."
Dante still did not look at him. His jaw flexes once. The muscle jumps. He lowers his voice, and it grows sharper. "Or I will".
"Tonight I am busy," I said. Leaning onto Vincent.
"Do I look like I give a shit?" he said between his teeth as if trying to keep cool.
Eleanor's fingers pressed my wrist. Dominic stayed still. Katerina studied a painting and did not move.
I took Vincent's hand off my waist and set it at his side. And I sighed, "Stand back," I said to Vincent. "I do not wish any drama, tonight." However, it was too late already.
Dante stepped into the space I made. The room felt closer.
"Why did you run?" he asked.
"You know why," I said.
"I do not," he said.
"You do," I said, and kept the rest inside. I glance once at Katerina.
His control held. But seemed confused. The strain showed on his shoulders. "If you want me gone," he said, quiet and clear, "say it with words, don't just cut me off without a reason."
I opened my mouth. But I get interrupted by Vincent.
"We should go to the terrace," he said. "Now! People are looking".
"I am going to the terrace," I said. "You are staying here."
I moved. Dante followed. He kept exactly the distance I allowed and no more. It felt like a rule and a test.
Outside, the air was cooler. Jasmine from the garden. The stone is still warm under my palm.
The sea lay dark with small moving lights. I set my glass on the balustrade and let my breath even out.
He waited. Doorway light drew a clean line along his cheek. His eyes stayed on me.
"You have three minutes," I said. "Use them."
"I will need less," he said.
"Confident."
"Accurate."
I faced him.
"You disappeared," he said. "You erased me. If there is a reason, I want it from you."
"You are not getting it," I said. "That is my answer."
"Then look at me and say you want me gone."
I looked. The light behind him softened. The garden blurred a little. My body did its usual routine. Heat low in my stomach. Cheeks warm. Breath off pace. Anger rose because it was easier to hold.
"Leave," I said.
He watched my mouth, not the word. "Liar," he said, quietly. "Your body does not back you up."
Then, in the space of a heartbeat, he surged forward. His hand shot out, gripping my waist, pulling me flush against him. My breath caught, protest tangled in my chest, but his mouth crashed onto mine, deep, raw, desperate. He kissed me like a man starving, like I was the only thing that could save him from suffocating. His lips were fire, his hands unyielding, every inch of him radiating hunger and ache.
I shoved at his shoulders, tried to twist away, but my own body betrayed me. I wanted this, I wanted him, and I hated how much I missed him. The months apart, the nights spent aching, all of it poured into that kiss. Anger and longing warred inside me, his mouth turning every protest into a gasp. I struggled, but my hands fisted in his jacket, pulling him closer even as my mind screamed to let go.
At last, fury surged through me. I tore myself free and shoved him back with both hands. My palm cracked across his cheek, sharp and stinging. "You have a fiancée," I spat, voice shaking.
The words hung between us, heavy and final.
He stared at me, stunned, the red mark blooming on his skin. I didn't wait for his answer. I turned and ran, back inside, away from him, from the truth burning in my chest.
I passed him without letting our arms touch. It took effort. Eleanor met my hand and released it.
Dominic gave Dante one even look.
Inside, the lights stayed bright. The music kept going. The party closed over us as if nothing had shifted.
I did not look back, but felt him burning behind me, his gaze a brand along my spine. Electricity dragged every step. I forced myself forward, throat tight, knowing this is far from over.
The terrace door opened. Voices came out and thinned. Vincent waited at the threshold, worried and stiff. Eleanor and Dominic stood a few paces away, their back-and-forth cooled to a low hum. She crossed her arms. He kept his hands in his pockets.
I didn't stop running until I found the bathroom at the far end of the hall. My hands shook as I gripped the sink, breath coming too fast. The world spun, bright lights, muffled music, and the memory of his mouth on mine, burning hot and impossible to erase. I splashed cold water on my cheeks, but it did nothing to calm the riot inside me.
A moment later, the door creaked open. Eleanor slipped in, eyes sharp and worried. She didn't ask questions, just squeezed my shoulder. "Let's get out of here."
I nodded, unable to form words. We slipped out the back, moving fast. I barely noticed the night air or the blur of party voices behind us. I was already halfway to the car when Eleanor caught up, grabbing my wrist gently. "You okay?" she asked, breathless.
"Take me home," I said. My voice was thin and frayed, but she didn't hesitate. She guided me into the passenger seat and drove, her silence a comfort.
The city lights passed in a blur. My pulse thudded in my ears all the way home. I pressed my forehead to the cool window and tried to steady my breathing, but nothing helped. The image of Dante's eyes, his hands, the taste of him, would not leave me.
At home, I stumbled inside and collapsed onto the sofa. My whole body trembled. I felt shaken and disturbed, as if the ground had shifted beneath my feet. Every nerve was raw. And yet, under the ache and anger, something deeper pulsed: I had never wanted anyone the way I wanted him.
Not even close. Wanting him was the worst thing and the truest thing I knew. I hated it, and I couldn't let it go.
Eventually, I dragged myself off the sofa and into my bedroom. I peeled my dress away, letting it fall in a careless heap on the floor. I didn't bother with my makeup, didn't care about mascara streaks or lipstick smudges. I slipped under the covers, naked, skin prickling against cool sheets.
There was nothing left in me to fight the exhaustion. I lay there, makeup still smeared, body bare, heart pounding with too many feelings to name. I stared at the ceiling until sleep finally pulled me under, heavy and never dreamless.