Chapter Four: Tangled Quiet
823 Words
Elena woke with the echo of the night still clinging to her skin.
The kiss replayed in her mind like a stubborn memory—Francisca’s lips, the heat, the familiarity that had felt both intoxicating and wrong. Regret settled in her chest before she could even open her eyes. She turned onto her side, staring at the pale morning light filtering through the curtains, wishing she could rewind time and stop herself.
Her phone buzzed.
She frowned and reached for it, blinking sleep from her eyes. The screen lit up with a notification that made her stomach tighten.
Francisca:
Hey beautiful 🥰🥀 Hope you slept well.
Elena’s breath caught. Her fingers tightened around the phone before she tossed it aside, letting it land on the bed with a dull thud. She collapsed onto her back, staring at the ceiling, then turned and buried her face in the duvet.
“Why did I let that happen?” she whispered.
The mansion remained silent.
After a while, she forced herself out of bed and headed to the bathroom. Steam curled into the air as she turned on the shower. She stepped under the warm spray, letting it wash over her shoulders, down her back, easing the tension lodged deep in her muscles.
She reached for her favorite body scrub, massaging it gently into her skin. The familiar scent—vanilla softened with jasmine—filled the room, grounding her. It was a comfort, a ritual. Something she could control when everything else felt uncertain.
When she stepped out, wrapped in a towel, the world felt quieter.
She dressed simply—an oversized polo that fell loosely over her frame and a pair of soft shorts. Sitting at the edge of her bed, she applied her body oil slowly, rubbing it into her skin until it shimmered faintly. Then she made her way downstairs.
The smell of food greeted her halfway down the stairs.
Garlic. Butter. Herbs.
Elena slowed, following the scent into the kitchen. She stopped just at the doorway.
Sophia stood by the stove, facing the gas, stirring something in a pan. She wore a tank top and joggers, casual and unguarded. Her hair was loosely pinned up, strands slipping free along the back of her neck. She looked… real. Lost in thought.
Elena realized she was staring.
Sophia coughed lightly.
Elena startled.
Sophia glanced over her shoulder, lips curving into a knowing smile.
“Are you just going to steal a look now?” she said.
Heat rushed to Elena’s face. “I—I was just—”
Sophia chuckled softly and turned back to the stove, the moment dissolving but leaving something charged in the air.
Elena grabbed a few snacks from the counter, suddenly hyperaware of herself. She turned toward the stairs.
“Your dad will be coming back tonight,” Sophia added casually.
Elena paused, then sighed. She didn’t reply—just climbed the stairs, the echo of her footsteps filling the quiet house.
Back in her room, she tossed the snacks onto the table and flopped onto her bed. Her phone buzzed again.
The group chat.
Valeria:
Hey besties 💐🌹
Elena smiled despite herself.
Elena:
Valeria what 😫😂
Camila:
So are you gonna tell us about the kiss? 🙄🙃
Elena groaned, burying her face into her pillow before replying.
Elena:
Please not that 😩
The teasing poured in—laughing emojis, dramatic reactions, exaggerated shock. Valeria sent gifs, Camila added heart-eyes. Elena laughed quietly, the heaviness in her chest easing just a little.
She set her phone aside and reached for her iPad. Writing had always been her escape. A place where confusion could be shaped into something that made sense.
She was deep into her words when she finally glanced up.
It was already evening.
Then she heard it.
The distant honk of a car, followed by the low mechanical sound of the gate rolling open.
Elena froze.
She moved to the window, pulling the curtain aside slightly. Headlights cut through the dusk as a sleek black car pulled into the driveway. The engine shut off moments later.
Her father was home.
Five days away. Five days of meetings, flights, and absence. His returns always felt heavier than his departures.
She went downstairs.
“Bumblebee,” Miguel said warmly the moment he saw her.
He reached into his briefcase and brought out a Birkin bag, setting it gently into her hands before placing a soft kiss on her forehead. Elena smiled faintly, murmuring a thank you.
Miguel then turned to Sophia, slipping an arm around her waist.
“I can see you’ve been bonding well with Elena,” he said.
Sophia smiled and wrapped her arms around his shoulders, effortless and composed—like a rehearsed scene. She played the part perfectly.
“Dinner’s served,” she said, leading the way to the dining table.
And Elena followed, unaware that everything was already shifting beneath her feet.
- Writer
