He stopped just before she reached the edge—he loved doing that. Loved the way disappointment flickered in her eyes, the silent accusation in her gaze, as if that alone gave him complete satisfaction.
He straightened slowly, unbuttoning his shirt without taking his eyes off her, then reached for the champagne.
Elena's breathing was shallow, uneven, her gaze fixed on him from beneath half-lowered lashes. Her dark hair spilled down in a thick cascade, her lips parted slightly—and when his strong hand slid between her thighs again, a shiver ran through her entire body.
"Waiting for me?" he murmured, his voice low against her ear.
"Mhm…" She caught his arm, as if needing something to hold onto while his fingers moved inside her, slow and deliberate. "Please…" she breathed softly.
With an unhurried, almost lazy motion, he unfastened his pants and pulled her closer.
He entered her quickly, not giving her even a second to adjust, and when her legs wrapped around his hips, he lifted her effortlessly and carried her into the living area.
The movement was restrained, incomplete in a way that made every sensation sharper, more intense than usual. When he sank into the armchair by the window, she let out a low, broken moan.
His hands gripped her hips, guiding her, controlling the rhythm, never looking away.
The same hunger burned in his eyes—the same raw desire as the first time he had seen her naked.
Her fingers tightened on his shoulders as she gave in to the primal rhythm building between them. He felt it the moment she found that perfect point—and this time, he had no intention of stopping her.
He watched her come undone in his arms.
"Elena," he whispered her name, again and again, and when she finished, he didn't give her even a moment to recover. "My beautiful Elena…"
He stood, setting her down, then with a firm, decisive movement guided her onto her knees on the seat of the chair.
She braced her hands against the backrest, and he pulled her hips toward him, pushing the fabric of her dress up.
She was so wet it nearly undid him the second he touched her.
His jaw tightened, breath catching as he forced himself to slow down, to hold control.
She looked back at him over her shoulder.
"Come inside me," she said softly, almost pleading.
He didn't need anything else.
Later, when Adrian disappeared into the bathroom and the steady sound of running water filled the space, Elena remained alone in the room, letting the quiet settle around her.
It returned slowly, but it wasn't the same as before. It felt heavier now, thicker somehow, as if something unseen had shifted in the air.
She sat down on the edge of the bed and reached for her phone more out of habit than intention. She didn't want to think—not here, not now, not after everything that had just happened. For a moment, she focused only on the soft glow of the screen in her hand, letting it anchor her.
Then another light caught her attention.
Not hers.
His.
Her gaze moved almost automatically to the nightstand, where Adrian's phone lit up with a new notification. She stilled, her fingers tightening slightly around her own device as she read the name.
Steven.
Her heartbeat picked up, quick and sharp, though she didn't move right away. She knew she shouldn't look, shouldn't let herself get pulled into it—but she did anyway.
We need to talk about V.
The single letter lingered in her mind longer than it should have, carrying more weight than it had any right to. It didn't feel random. It didn't feel harmless.
It felt wrong.
A slow tension spread through her chest as she lowered her gaze, her thoughts already moving ahead of her. Without fully deciding to, she opened her own phone, searching for something—context, explanation, anything that could ground what was beginning to take shape in her mind.
She scrolled through social media, distracted at first, barely registering what she saw.
Then something caught her eye.
A small article, easy to miss.
A photo.
Familiar.
Too familiar.
Elena froze.
Victoria.
The name hit before the rest of it fully registered. Her eyes moved quickly to the headline, reading it once, then again, as if repetition might change the meaning.
"Model found dead. Suspected suicide."
For a moment, her mind refused to accept it. The words felt distant, disconnected from reality, like something that didn't quite belong to her world.
But the image didn't change.
The name didn't change.
Victoria.
The same Victoria who had stood in their house, tense and desperate, her voice tight with something that had sounded dangerously close to fear.
The same Victoria who had looked at Adrian like—
Elena's head lifted abruptly.
Her gaze fixed on the bathroom door.
The sound of water still filled the room, steady and undisturbed, carrying on as if nothing had happened, as if nothing had just shifted beneath her feet.
Her grip tightened around her phone.
V.
Victoria.
Her breathing grew faster now, shallow, uneven, as the pieces began to fall into place. Not all at once, not clearly—but enough to form a pattern that felt too precise to ignore.
Too clean.
Too connected.
Too dangerous.
The bathroom door opened.
Elena didn't have time to move, didn't have time to compose herself before Adrian stepped into the room.
He stopped the moment he saw her.
Their eyes met.
And in that brief, fragile second, something passed between them—something unspoken, but unmistakable.
He saw it.
Not everything.
But enough.
"Elena?"
His voice was calm, controlled, exactly as it always was.
But his eyes—
his eyes were already searching.
And for the first time, Elena didn't feel uncertain.
She felt afraid.