Sour Secrets
656 Words
Elena hadn’t slept. The photo haunted her like a ghost with perfect lighting. She stared at it againEva, red dress, champagne, smile like a weapon. She remembered that night. The minister had asked her to laugh more. She had laughed until her throat burned.
Now, someone wanted €5,000 to keep that laugh buried.
She couldn’t afford silence. But she couldn’t afford exposure either.
Her inbox buzzed. Another order. Another message from a woman asking how to start her own cart. The Lemon Girl was becoming a movement. But movements needed leaders. And leaders couldn’t be blackmailed.
She dressed quickly black jeans, grey coat, no makeup. She needed to think. She needed to walk. She needed to disappear.
She didn’t get far.
Lukas Engel was waiting outside her building, camera slung over his shoulder, eyes sharp.
“Elena,” he said.
She froze. “What are you doing here?”
“I need to talk. About Eva.”
Her stomach dropped.
“I don’t know who that is,” she said.
He held up his phone. The photo. The same one. “You do.”
She stared at him. “Delete it.”
“I’m not here to expose you,” he said. “I’m here to understand you.”
She laughed bitterly. “Understand me? You wrote a fairytale. You don’t want the truth.”
“I do now.”
She looked away. “Then you should know: Eva paid for my mother’s surgery. Eva kept my brother in school. Eva died the day I built that cart.”
Lukas nodded slowly. “Then let me help you keep her buried.”
They sat in a café, far from Voss & Co. Elena told him everything well, almost everything. She left out names. She left out the worst nights. But she told him enough.
Lukas listened. He didn’t interrupt. He didn’t judge.
When she finished, he said, “You need protection. Not pity.”
“I need €5,000,” she replied.
He leaned back. “I know someone. A lawyer. She helps women like you. She’s discreet.”
Elena hesitated. “Why are you helping me?”
“Because Velstadt eats women alive. And you’re the first one I’ve seen bite back.”
That night, Elena messaged three women she had met during her Eva days. Each had escaped. Each had scars. Each had skills.
• Mira, a former escort turned herbalist.
• Sofia, a bartender with a gift for branding.
• Anya, a coder who once hacked a minister’s phone for revenge.
They met in Elena’s apartment. Luka cooked pasta. Danica slept.
Elena stood before them, holding a bottle of lemonade.
“I want to build something,” she said. “Not just a business. A syndicate. For women. By women. No sugar. No apologies.”
They stared at her. Then, one by one, they nodded.
The next morning, Elena received another message.
“€5,000 by Friday. Or Eva goes viral.”
Attached was a video. Her. Laughing. Undressing. The minister’s voice in the background.
She showed it to Lukas. He called the lawyer. The lawyer traced the number. It belonged to Gregor Voss Dorian’s nephew.
Elena’s blood ran cold.
She walked into Café Voss & Co. at noon. Dorian smiled.
“Elena,” he said. “Have you considered my offer?”
She placed the phone on the table. Played the video. Watched his face change.
“I don’t need your offer,” she said. “I need your silence.”
Dorian leaned back. “You’re bluffing.”
She smiled. “I’m not Eva anymore. I’m Elena. And I have a syndicate.”
She walked out. The café was silent.
Outside, Lukas waited. He handed her a folder.
“Trademark papers,” he said. “The Lemon Syndicate is yours.”
She stared at the folder. At the city. At the future.
She whispered: “Let’s make them taste regret.”
- Writer
