Soft lies,sharp Edges
954 Words
Chapter Four – Velvet and Vices
Soft Lies, Sharp Edges
Afair had begun to change.
The air hung heavier. The shadows felt closer. The town whispered rumors like lullabies to the unwary—of creatures that walked like men, of ancient pacts written in blood, and of a girl who had stirred a monster’s heart.
Elara tried to pretend she didn’t hear them.
But the truth had a way of wrapping around her, soft as velvet and sharp as glass.
Lucien hadn’t come back in days.
Not since the night in the woods.
Not since she’d kissed him like the world could burn and she wouldn’t care, so long as his lips stayed on hers.
Now all she had was silence. And questions. And the ache of longing curled deep in her chest.
She sat in the bookstore’s attic window, watching the fog thicken over Bellamy Street. Her tea had gone cold, untouched. Below, Mina shelved books, unaware that the girl upstairs was unraveling.
She tried to tell herself that she didn’t need him. That she was better off without the wolf with mafia blood and too many secrets. But every time she closed her eyes, she felt him. Heard the gravel in his voice. The heat in his touch. The curse in his breath.
And in the absence of his presence, something else slithered in.
Doubt.
That afternoon, a package arrived with no name. Just a wax seal in the shape of a fang.
Inside: photos.
Of Lucien.
With another woman.
Dark hair. Olive skin. Pale blue eyes. She was leaning into him, laughing—familiar. Like she'd done it a thousand times. And in one of the shots, Lucien had his hand on her lower back, face tilted to hers, lips nearly brushing.
The caption written in elegant, cruel cursive:
“You’re not the first. You won’t be the last.”
Elara stared at the photos, a storm boiling beneath her skin. Her throat tightened. She wanted to scream, cry, destroy something—but all she did was sit there, stunned.
Who was she? Celia? Someone else? Someone still in his heart?
It didn’t matter.
What mattered was that Lucien hadn’t chosen her.
He hadn’t even stayed.
---
That night, Afair’s sky turned dark purple as the storm rolled in. Rain slammed against the windows, and thunder cracked the heavens like bone.
Elara didn’t sleep.
She wandered.
She didn’t know why she found herself on the road to the Vire estate. Maybe it was madness. Maybe it was hope. But part of her needed answers. Needed truth, no matter how much it hurt.
The gates were open.
That should’ve been the first warning.
The mansion loomed in the distance—ancient stone and iron, like a fortress built to keep the world out… or something monstrous in.
She pushed through the doors. No guards. No servants. Just silence.
Then voices.
She crept closer, hiding behind a marble column.
“…you should’ve ended it when you had the chance,” Dominic said sharply. “But you got attached.”
Lucien’s voice followed, low and raw. “She’s not like the others.”
“That’s what you said about Celia. About Ivy. Look where that got you. One dead. One missing. And now this girl—Elara—she’s tangled in this mess, and you can’t protect her.”
A pause.
“She’s not a toy, Lucien. She’s bait.”
Elara’s breath caught in her throat.
Lucien’s voice broke. “No. I won’t let that happen.”
Dominic laughed bitterly. “You already have.”
Elara stepped back, tears stinging her eyes. The hallway spun around her.
She had been right.
This wasn’t love.
This was a game.
And she was the pawn.
She ran.
Rain pelted her as she fled down the road, each drop like punishment. She didn’t stop until she reached the bookstore. Her lungs burned. Her heart cracked.
Inside, she collapsed on the floor, her hands clenched in her hair, the sob rising from her throat like poison.
He lied. He promised. He made her believe…
She had fallen into him like velvet—warm, soft, comforting.
But now she saw the truth.
Lucien Vire was not velvet.
He was vice.
And she’d wrapped herself in him until she couldn’t breathe.
---
The days blurred after that.
She avoided the woods. The bookstore became her haven. She smiled when Mina spoke, nodded when people passed her, but her eyes never quite focused. Her body moved, but her spirit had curled up somewhere cold and hollow.
Still, every time the wind howled, her heart paused.
Was it him?
Every time the floor creaked, she turned—hopeful, terrified.
And every night, she dreamed of the woods. Of his voice calling her name.
Then came the letter.
Slipped beneath her pillow.
No name. Just ink, smudged from a drop of water—maybe rain. Maybe tears.
> “I am not good. I am not worthy. But I am yours, Elara. And even if you hate me, even if you never look at me again—I will keep you safe. Even if it kills me.”
—L
She pressed the letter to her chest, curled in bed, unable to stop the tears.
She hated him.
She loved him.
She missed him like a fever.
And she finally understood what Velvet and Vices truly meant.
Because loving Lucien was both—
A pleasure so soft it wrapped around her soul.
And a curse so sharp it bled her dry.
She still wanted him.
Even if it destroyed her.
And somewhere in the storm, a wolf howled—not wild, not hunting.
Lonely.
Calling for the one thing he could not hold.
- Writer
