Let's see
774 Words
The party kept going.
Victor made the introduction — dropped it into the room like it was a bomb — and the room simply absorbed it. To everyone else, this was just a billionaire's son meeting his father's new fiancée.
Victor's hand rested on Elara's waist. A firm, proprietary hold.
"Ivan flew in from Edinburgh this morning," Victor said, his voice smooth. "I wanted him here for this. He doesn't come back as often as I'd like, but..." Victor smiled at Ivan. "He came."
Ivan didn't smile. His grey eyes dropped into Victor's hand on Elara's hip, then back up to her face. His jaw tight, his expression unreadable.
"How was the flight?" Elara forced out. Her voice came out thin. She felt like she was standing on a trapdoor.
"Long." Pause. "But necessary."
His gaze locked onto hers. It wasn't the look of a son meeting a stepmother; it was the look of a man trying to process an impossible error in reality.
"Elara is a painter," Victor added, looking between them. "From Pennsylvania."
"A painter," Ivan repeated. His eyes didn't leave her face. "Interesting."
Elara felt her pulse spike.
A man in a navy suit touched Victor's elbow. Victor glanced over, annoyed. "Two minutes," he muttered to Elara, giving her waist a dismissive squeeze, and stepped away.
The pressure didn't lift. It sharpened. Ivan took a half-step closer. He didn't invade her space; he just stood there, his presence heavy and unavoidable.
"Is this it?" Ivan asked, his voice low. He sounded disoriented. "You're the one he's bringing home?"
Elara felt the blood drain from her face. "You've seen me before?"
"I've seen you every night," Ivan said. He sounded like a man whose reality had just been shattered. "I thought I was losing it. I thought... maybe I was just hallucinating."
Elara's hand shook against her glass. "Me too. I thought I was crazy."
"We aren't crazy," Ivan said. He looked at her, and for a second, the billionaire's mask slipped, revealing a look of pure, unadulterated shock—not for himself, but at the sheer impossibility of it.
"I wasn't ready for this." He let out a breath. "You're her. You're the one from my dreams. For three years."
"Every night," he added, his voice dropping to a low, jagged rasp. "Same eyes. Same—" He stopped, his gaze dropping into her throat, then snapping back up. "I couldn't see your face in the dream. I never could. But the second I walked into this room and saw you..."
"Neither could I." The words came out strangled.
But why? How was this even possible? Why him?
The question screamed through her mind in utter, agonizing despair. Why did it have to be him? Why did fate have to rip away her very last sanctuary?
She had already sold her future, her freedom, and her body to Victor—but through it all, she had comforted herself with the thought that her nights belonged only to her. The faceless man in the dark had been her secret, beautiful illusion. Her escape.
But now, even that illusion was gone. Even her dreams belonged to an Ashford.
Then his hand moved.
Like he couldn't help it. He didn't touch her — not really — but his fingers drifted close to her collarbone. Close enough that she could feel the heat off them.
He brushed a strand of hair from her shoulder. His hand shook. Just a little. His knuckles grazed the edge of her dress, and he stayed there a second too long. Her whole body lit up.
She didn't breathe.
"Victor has excellent taste." His voice was rough. His eyes stayed on hers — dark, bitter, burning. "He always has."
He heard his father's footsteps behind her. Ivan heard them too.
In a split second, the fire in his eyes died, replaced by an impenetrable, icy detachment. He stepped back. Just far enough to be proper.
His expression was already closing, the mask already sliding back into place, and he raised his glass slightly, like a toast, like a threat, like a goodbye.
"Let's see if he can keep you."
Victor's arm settled around her waist. She let it.
"Everything all right?" Victor asked, looking between them with the pleasant expression of a man who had never once suspected himself of anything.
"Fine," Ivan said. He smiled. It was the most chilling thing she'd seen all night. "Just getting to know the family."
He turned and walked away into the crowd.
Elara stood with Victor's arm around her, one hand pressed flat against her own collarbone where Ivan's knuckles had been.
- Writer
