Chapter 11
1048 Words
The last of the guests had barely disappeared into the night when the mansion fell into an eerie, almost unnatural silence. Hours earlier, laughter had filled the halls, glasses had clinked, and whispers of admiration followed Elora wherever she walked. The launch had been perfect—too perfect.
Now, it felt like a stage after the curtains had dropped.
Empty.
Watching.
Waiting.
Elora stepped into the bathroom, closing the door behind her with a soft click that echoed louder than it should have. The marble tiles were cold beneath her feet, sending a faint shiver up her spine. She turned on the tap, letting warm water cascade into the bathtub. Steam slowly rose, blurring the mirrors, softening the edges of reality.
For a moment, she just stood there.
Alone.
Or at least, she thought she was.
She sank into the bathtub, letting the warmth wrap around her body. Foam gathered around her as she reached for the bar soap, moving slowly, deliberately—as though trying to wash away more than just the day’s exhaustion.
Her thoughts drifted—uninvited, relentless.
The knock from the morning.
Matilda's voice saying
“You’ve been living my life.”
Elora squeezed her eyes shut.
No. Don’t think about it.
But the memory refused to fade.
Instead, it sharpened.
The figure in white.
The calm tone.
The certainty.
And the way Windsor had looked—confused, suspicious, dangerously close to connecting dots that should never be connected.
Elora exhaled slowly, forcing herself back into the present. She lifted the soap again, her hands moving mechanically—
Then she froze.
A sound.
Soft.
Barely there.
But unmistakable.
Her eyes snapped toward the bathroom door.
Nothing.
Just the faint shadow of the hallway light slipping through the gap beneath it.
She held her breath.
Listening.
Seconds passed.
Then—
A slight movement.
A whisper of paper against tile.
Elora’s heart skipped.
Slowly—too slowly—her gaze dropped.
A folded note slid under the door.
Her breath caught in her throat.
For a moment, she didn’t move.
Didn’t blink.
Didn’t breathe.
Because something about it felt… wrong.
Not dangerous in an obvious way.
But calculated.
Deliberate.
Like someone knew exactly when she would be here.
Alone.
Vulnerable.
Watching the door as though expecting something to follow the note.
Nothing came.
Only silence.
Heavy.
Pressing.
Elora swallowed hard and stood abruptly, water sloshing over the edge of the tub. She rinsed off quickly, her movements no longer relaxed but sharp, hurried. Her mind raced.
Who slipped that note?
Windsor?
Or… someone else?
She stepped out, wrapping herself briefly before discarding the towel. Her eyes never left the note.
It sat there.
Waiting.
As if it had patience.
As if it knew she would come to it.
Elora walked toward it slowly, each step echoing louder than the last. She bent down, her fingers hovering over the paper for a split second—
Then she grabbed it.
Unfolded it.
Her eyes scanned the words.
“Be fast. We are going down tonight.”
She blinked.
Once.
Twice.
Then—
A smile spread across her lips.
Relief.
Familiarity.
Desire.
Of course.
Windsor.
Who else could it be?
The tension in her shoulders eased slightly, though not completely. Something still lingered at the edges of her thoughts—but she pushed it aside.
“I love s*x,” she murmured softly to herself. “And it’s even better with my husband.”
But even as she said it—
A tiny voice in her head whispered:
Since when does Windsor send notes?
She ignored it.
She had to.
Because if she didn’t, the fear creeping beneath her skin would take over.
And tonight—
She didn’t want fear.
She wanted distraction.
Control.
Normalcy.
She stepped out of the bathroom, now dressed in red pants and a bra that clung to her skin like a second layer. The dim light of the bedroom painted her in shadows and soft gold.
Windsor was already there.
Waiting.
Watching.
A slow smile curved on his lips as his eyes traveled over her.
“I missed this,” he said, his voice low, almost husky. “We haven’t had s*x in 24 hours.”
Elora let out a soft laugh, though her pulse was still slightly uneven.
“That long?” she teased lightly.
But Windsor didn’t answer.
Instead, he closed the distance between them in a few steps.
His hand cupped her face.
And then his lips were on hers.
Firm.
Demanding.
Almost… urgent.
Elora melted into the kiss, her hands instinctively gripping his shirt. For a moment, everything else faded—the note,Matilda's voice , the creeping unease.
All gone.
Just this.
Just him.
Windsor lifted her effortlessly, carrying her to the bed. She landed softly against the sheets as he hovered over her, his eyes darker now.
Focused.
Intense.
Possessive.
His hands moved to her waist, pulling her closer. The room felt smaller, the air thicker.
He pulled away briefly, his gaze locking onto hers.
And for a split second—
Something felt… off.
Different.
Not wrong enough to stop.
But not right enough to ignore.
“Elora,” he murmured.
The way he said her name—
Shows the s*x was intimate as usual.
Her brows knit slightly.
“What?” she whispered.
But instead of answering, he leaned in again, his lips trailing down her neck. His hands moved with confidence, removing her pants and bra.
Elora’s breath hitched.
Her thoughts blurred.
Her body responded.
And yet—
That feeling lingered.
That quiet, persistent whisper.
Her fingers tightened on his shoulder.
“Windsor…” she said softly.
He didn’t respond.
Didn’t slow down.
Didn’t stop.
Instead, his grip tightened slightly.
Too tight.
Elora’s eyes opened.
“Windsor…?” she said again, this time with tears rolling down her cheeks.
He froze.
Just for a second.
Then slowly—
He lifted his head.
Their eyes met.
And in that moment—
Everything inside Elora shattered.
Because Windsor was too hard on her.
The room became silent.
No tears.
No sounds of Elora and Windsor making out.
Windsor’s voice broke the silence.
Low.
Deadly.
“…Elora?”
Her entire body went cold.
Because at that moment, he apologized for being too hard.
And the s*x for that night ended.
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