CLAIMED BY MY IDOLS UNDER BANGKOK LIGHTS

Chapter 1: The Distance Between Us

CHAPTER 1: THE DISTANCE BETWEEN US

*******

The silk slipped through my fingers like water. Deep emerald green. The color of new leaves in spring. The color of everything I wanted us to become again.

I'd bought it three weeks ago. Back when I still believed he might look at me. Back when I thought the distance between us was something I could close with the right dress, the right lighting, the right moment.

Now I stood in his office doorway, the silk cool against my skin, the straps thin as whispers, the hem grazing the tops of my thighs. Nothing underneath but the ache I'd been carrying for weeks.

He didn't look up.

"Essie. It's 9 p.m."

"I know what time it is."

His fingers never stopped moving across the keyboard. Click clack click clack. The sound used to be background noise, the soundtrack of our shared life. Now it felt like a wall, brick by brick, rising between us.

I stepped into the room anyway. Bare feet on cold hardwood. The silk whispered against my thighs with every movement, a reminder of the effort I'd made, the hope I'd dressed myself in.

"I've been trying," I said quietly. "For weeks. I've been wearing things you used to like. Cooking dinners you never eat. Standing in doorways hoping you'll notice."

He sighed. Still didn't look up.

"You've been working every night," I continued. "You barely look at me. You barely talk. And when I try to have a conversation, you act like I'm a stranger who wandered off the street."

His jaw tightened. For a moment, I thought he might ignore me completely. Then he pushed back from the desk, the chair wheels squeaking against the floor, and turned to face me.

His eyes traveled over me. The emerald silk. The bare legs. The way I held myself, arms wrapped tight, trying not to shiver from more than the cold.

Something flickered in his gaze. Recognition, maybe. Or memory.

Then it was gone.

"We talked this morning," he said flatly.

"About what? What we need from the grocery store?"

"You're being dramatic."

"I'm being honest." I stepped closer, close enough that he could smell my perfume, the one he'd bought me last anniversary. Close enough that if he reached out, he'd feel the warmth radiating from my skin. "When's the last time you touched me? Really touched me? Not a distracted kiss on the forehead. Not a pat on the shoulder. I mean touched me."

Essie's eyes dropped. To my lips. To the thin straps. To the place where silk barely covered.

For one electric second, I thought maybe—finally—he'd close the distance. Pull me into his lap. Remind me what it felt like to be wanted.

Then he looked away.

"Mira. I got the promotion today. Head of the US branch. Do you know what that means?"

The words landed like ice water.

I knew. He'd told me the night he found out, pulling me into a hug so tight I'd thought maybe things would go back to how they used to be.

They hadn't.

"Congratulations," I said. The word tasted like ash. "Is that why you've been distant? Because of work?"

"Because of everything." He ran both hands through his hair, frustration twisting his features. "I'm trying to build a future for us. A real future. Do you have any idea how much pressure that is?"

I'm not asking for a future, I wanted to scream. I'm asking for you. Right now. Tonight. Here. Before, whatever this is swallows us whole.

I dressed for you. I wanted you. I still want you.

Why don't you want me back?

But the words wouldn't come. They never did. I'd spent five years learning to be the easy girlfriend, the supportive one, the woman who didn't make demands. And now I don't know how to be anything else.

****

That night, he came to meet me on the bed.

His hands were in my hair. His mouth on my neck. His body pressed into mine like he actually wanted me.

For a moment, I believed it.

"You feel so good," he whispered against my skin. "I missed this. I missed you."

I arched into him, pulling him closer, needing more. Three weeks since he'd touched me. Three weeks of late nights and closed doors and forehead kisses that felt like goodbye. But tonight he was here. Really here.

His phone buzzed on the nightstand.

He ignored it.

His lips found mine. Deep. Desperate. Like he was trying to remember something he'd forgotten.

I wrapped my legs around him and let myself pretend.

Another buzz.

Then another.

"Essie------"

"It's fine." His voice was rough. "Nothing's more important than this."

I wanted to believe him. God, I wanted to believe him.

So I closed my eyes and held on tighter.

****

Afterward, he fell asleep in minutes. One arm thrown over my stomach, face relaxed, breathing slowly.

I lay awake, tracing patterns on his chest, trying to hold onto the feeling.

His phone buzzed again.

I glanced at the nightstand. The screen glowed in the dark.

Unknown number.

I shouldn't have looked. But something made me reach for it.

The message was right there.

Same time tomorrow? Can't stop thinking about you.

My heart stopped.

I scrolled up. There was more. Photos. Her face. Young. Pretty. A bed I didn't recognize. Dates that went back months.

Months.

My hand shook. My chest caved in. The room spun.

I looked at Essie. Sleeping peacefully. Arm around me like he owned me. Like I was his.

I wanted to scream. I wanted to wake him. I wanted to throw the phone at his face and watch him try to explain.

Instead, I put the phone back.

Lay down.

Stared at the ceiling until sunrise.

****

Morning came anyway.

Essie stirred beside me. Pulled me closer. Kissed my shoulder.

"That was amazing," he murmured. "We should do that more often."

I didn't answer.

He got up. Showered. Dressed. Came back to kiss my forehead.

"I love you," he said.

I watched him walk out the door.

And I still hadn't said it back.

*****

Hours later, I was still sitting at the kitchen table when he came home.

He looked tired. Distracted. Like he hadn't noticed the red in my eyes or the way I flinched when he touched me.

"Are you okay?" he asked.

"Couldn't sleep."

He nodded like that was enough. Then he pulled a stack of tickets from his jacket. Fanned them out like a winning hand.

Thailand. China. Korea. Concert tickets. Meet and greets. VIP passes. Everything.

I stared at them. "What is this?"

"Your dream trip." He smiled, and for a second he looked like the boy I'd fallen in love with at nineteen. "Lycans. The Ultimate. All your favorite BL actors. Three weeks, all expenses paid."

My mouth opened. Closed. Opened again.

"You're coming with me?"

The pause lasted less than a heartbeat. But I felt it.

"Babe, I can't. The promotion. Work is crazy right now. But you'll have fun. You deserve this."

You deserve this.

Three words that felt like goodbye dressed up as a gift.

I looked at the tickets. At the Lycans logo. At Ace's face on the VIP pass, grey eyes staring at nothing.

"I'll drop you off at the airport," Essie said. "Make sure you get there safe."

Drop me off. Like I'm a kid going to summer camp. Like I'm not your fiancée leaving for three weeks while you stay here alone.

"Sure," I said. "Thanks."

He kissed my cheek. Not my lips. My cheek.

Then he was gone.

****

I sat at the table for an hour, tickets spread in front of me, phone in my hand.

I know her name now. Alice. I'd looked her up while he was in the shower. i********:. LinkedIn. Young. Beautiful. Rich.

Everything I wasn't anymore.

I opened his messages again. The texts were deleted. But I'd saved the number. Some part of me knew I'd need it later.

I stared at the screen for a long time.

Then I closed the app. Picked up the tickets.

Bangkok. Three weeks. Maybe I could disappear there. Maybe I could pretend this wasn't happening. Maybe------

My phone buzzed.

Unknown number.

I know you saw the messages.

My blood went cold.

Stay away from him.

He's mine now.

I stared at the screen. My hands shook. My heart pounded.

Another buzz.

Have fun in Thailand, honey.

I stared at the word. Honey. Like she knew me. Like she'd heard him call me that a hundred times.

Maybe she had.

Maybe she'd heard everything.

****

That night, I packed.

The emerald silk went into the suitcase first. The color of new leaves. The color of everything I'd hoped we could become again. Maybe in Bangkok someone would notice.

Jeans. Tops. My grandmother's necklace—a tiny crescent moon on a silver chain. I found it at the bottom of my jewelry box and slipped it into my bag without thinking.

I climbed into bed alone.

And somewhere in the darkness, I let myself wonder:

If he doesn't want me anymore... will anyone ever?

****

Across the city, in an office bathed in blue light, Essie's phone vibrated against his desk.

He glanced at the screen.

A photo.

His blood went cold.

He deleted it instantly. Then deleted the thread. Then sat there, heart pounding, hands shaking, staring at nothing.

Not now, he thought. Not when everything is finally falling into place.

He shoved the phone into his pocket and turned back to his work.

But the words on the screen blurred.

And somewhere in the back of his mind, a voice whispered what he already knew:

Secrets don't stay buried forever.

*******