chapter 7 slow burn
972 Words
Chapter 7: Slow Burn
Mia hadn’t planned to see Jake again that night.
She was supposed to be meeting a contact—some European broker with whispered ties to Vivienne’s network. But when the deal fell through and the bar lights dimmed, Jake was there instead, sitting alone, a drink in hand, dressed like the version of himself she used to crave: dangerous and unfinished.
“You look tired,” he said as she approached. “Like you’ve been fighting gods.”
She raised an eyebrow. “You’d know. You trained under one.”
He smirked but didn’t deny it.
They didn’t speak for a few minutes—just stared at each other across low candlelight and half-finished drinks. Outside, the rain pressed against the glass like it wanted in on their history.
Then Jake leaned in. “You want Vivienne taken out.”
Mia didn’t blink. “I want the throne cleared.”
He nodded slowly, studying her. “And what about us?”
She took a slow sip of her drink. “Didn’t realize ‘us’ still existed.”
Jake’s smile was sad. “You still wear the same perfume.”
Mia leaned in, her voice dropping. “And you still say the right things just before you ruin someone.”
---
They didn’t make it out of the bar before gravity pulled them together.
Back at Mia’s penthouse, the tension finally broke. Clothes hit the floor like truth: fast, irretrievable. Their bodies moved in sync, tangled in old hurts and fresh hunger. The city disappeared behind the windows as they lost themselves in heat, in skin, in the illusion that power didn’t exist between them for a few brief hours.
Afterward, Jake lit a joint, the scent earthy and nostalgic.
“You remember that first night?” he said, passing it to her.
Mia took a drag. “The club. The pill. The lie.”
He laughed. “I meant the kiss.”
She handed the joint back. “Same difference.”
Silence fell again, thick and smoky.
“You don’t trust me,” he said after a while.
“No,” she replied. “But I still want you. That’s worse.”
---
The next morning, Mia stood alone on her balcony, a robe clutched around her like armor.
Jake was asleep in her bed. Maybe for the last time.
Because Vivienne had sent another message.
And this time, it wasn’t subtle.
A red vial, wrapped in silk, left inside Mia’s closet.
No name.
Just a label:
LOVE / OBLIVION. Choose wisely.
Mia stared at it, the city humming at her feet.
Because in this game of lovers and leaders, there were no safe addictions.
Only the ones we chose to let consume us.
.
Mia hadn’t touched the vial.
Not yet.
It sat on her desk like a dare—deep crimson liquid sealed in glass no bigger than her thumb. The label still haunted her:
LOVE / OBLIVION. Choose wisely.
Was it a drug? A warning? A metaphor?
In her world, things didn’t come with explanations. Only consequences.
Jake was gone by morning, the imprint of him still warm in her sheets and colder in her memory. He hadn’t said goodbye. He never did. Their intimacy was never about permanence. It was about ache—about two people colliding because staying still meant suffocating.
She lit a cigarette, stared at the vial, and called Naomi.
“I need analysis,” she said. “Quiet. Discreet. Assume it’s laced.”
Naomi didn’t ask questions. She never did.
Because Mia was starting to suspect that in her quest for power, she’d become more than feared.
She was becoming untouchable.
And loneliness wears gold beautifully—but it strangles just the same.
---
Later that night, she met with Andre Luce—a club owner whose business doubled as one of the most exclusive designer drug pipelines on the East Coast. He owed Mia for keeping his brother’s crypto laundering scheme off the radar. Now, she wanted payment in the form of truth.
“What do you know about something called Oblivion?” she asked, leaning over the curved marble bar, her voice low and laced with threat.
Andre paled. “That’s not a recreational hit. It’s an intimacy chemical. Designed for control. Designed to make someone feel in love… whether they are or not.”
Mia’s blood iced.
“So it’s a lie,” she said flatly.
“No,” Andre whispered. “It’s a fantasy... one that feels real until it’s gone. Then all you’re left with is the absence—and it hurts like withdrawal.”
Mia stood slowly. “Who manufactures it?”
Andre hesitated. “Used to be Alexis. Now? Rumor says Vivienne controls the pipeline.”
Of course she did.
---
When Mia returned to her penthouse, a package waited outside her door. Inside: a silk scarf that still smelled like Jake, and a USB stick. She plugged it in with trembling fingers.
It was a video.
Her. And Jake. From two nights ago.
Their bodies intertwined, laughter echoing through the walls. The angle was hidden-cam sharp—intimate, ruthless.
The screen cut to black. Then white text appeared:
> “Tell me again what’s real.” —V.C.
It wasn’t a threat.
It was a game.
Vivienne was offering Mia a choice—truth with jagged edges, or a synthetic feeling that wrapped itself around you like velvet and refused to let go.
The vial waited.
She picked it up.
Her hand didn’t shake.
Not yet.
---
Across the city, Vivienne sat in an obsidian chair, sipping aged wine, her phone lit with a single blinking notification: Package received.
She smiled.
Because she knew exactly what Mia was learning:
Love is the most addictive drug.
And Mia?
She was already high.
.
- Writer
