Revenge Affair

Taking Space

Elara woke to the smell of fresh coffee and cinnamon. Sunlight slanted through the bedroom blinds, warm and golden, but it did nothing to thaw the chill in her chest. Alex stood at the foot of the bed holding a tray: scrambled eggs, toast with jam, a small vase with one white rose, and her favorite mug filled to the brim. He wore that hopeful smile, the one that used to melt her reservations in seconds.

“Morning, beautiful,” he said softly, setting the tray on the nightstand. “Thought we could start fresh. Breakfast in bed. No phones, no work, just us.”

She sat up slowly, pulling the sheet around her. The ring on her finger caught the light, heavy and cold. “Alex…”

“I know I messed up. Badly.” He sat on the edge of the mattress, careful not to crowd her. “But I meant every word last night. I want to fix this. Starting right now.”

Elara looked at the tray, then at him. His eyes were earnest, almost desperate. Part of her wanted to believe him, wanted to slip back into the easy rhythm they had built over three years. The other part remembered the emails, the photos, the way her stomach had dropped when she saw Mia’s name lighting up his screen again and again.

She reached for the coffee. “Okay. Breakfast.”

He grinned like she had handed him a lifeline. While she ate, he talked lightly: the weather, a funny story from yesterday’s investor call, how proud he was of her latest project. Normal. Safe. But every time he reached for her hand, she felt the ghost of Damian’s touch overlay it, firmer, hungrier, more certain.

After the plates were cleared, Alex leaned in. His lips brushed her temple, then her cheek, then the corner of her mouth. “I missed this,” he murmured. “Missed you.”

Elara closed her eyes. She let him kiss her properly, let his hands slide under the sheet to find her waist. Familiar. Comforting. His mouth moved down her neck, slow and deliberate, the way he knew she liked. She tried to sink into it, tried to let muscle memory take over.

He tugged the sheet lower, exposing her breasts. His thumbs circled her n*****s gently at first, then with more pressure until they peaked under his touch. Elara’s breath hitched. He took one into his mouth, tongue flicking, sucking softly. Heat pooled low in her belly despite everything. His hand drifted down, slipping between her thighs, fingers stroking through the lace of her panties.

She arched slightly, a small moan escaping. For a moment it felt good, good enough to pretend nothing had changed. But then his phone buzzed on the dresser. Once. Twice.

Alex froze.

Elara opened her eyes. “Ignore it.”

He hesitated, gaze flicking toward the sound. “It might be important.”

“Alex.”

He exhaled, kissed her forehead, and reached for the phone anyway. “Just a second, babe. Promise.”

She watched him read the screen, expression tightening for a split second before he forced a smile. “Nothing. Work stuff.” He silenced it and set it face-down.

But the mood had cracked. When he tried to pick up where he left off, sliding her panties aside and circling her c**t with practiced strokes, Elara’s body responded, wet, aching, but her mind drifted. She pictured Damian’s mouth there instead, his tongue slow and relentless, drawing out pleasure until she shattered. The contrast made her stomach twist.

She caught Alex’s wrist. “Stop.”

He pulled back immediately, concern etching his features. “What’s wrong?”

“I can’t.” She sat up, pulling the sheet to her chest. “Not yet. Not like this.”

His jaw clenched. “Is it still me? The things I did? Or… is something else going on? You feel different, Elara. Like part of you is somewhere else.”

The question landed softly, but it stung. No name, no accusation, just raw insecurity. Elara stared. She could see the fear in his eyes, the way he was grasping for reassurance while knowing he had already broken so much trust.

She swallowed. The truth burned on her tongue, whiskey, a bar, a stranger’s apartment, skin against skin until dawn, but she couldn’t say it. Not yet. “I just need time, Alex. That’s all.”

He nodded, but the hurt in his eyes was real. “Okay. Time. I can give you that.”

He kissed her forehead again, softer this time, and left the room to shower. Elara stayed in bed, staring at the ceiling. Guilt and anger tangled together until she couldn’t tell them apart.

At Voss Visions the energy was electric. The startup client had requested an urgent review of the latest renders, and Elara had spent half the night tweaking them after the confrontation with Alex. She arrived early, hair pulled into a sleek ponytail, wearing a tailored emerald blazer that made her feel like armor.

The conference room filled quickly. Jake, her junior designer, set up the projector. Sarah, the intern, arranged mood boards on easels. Lila leaned against the wall, arms crossed, watching Elara with a knowing look.

“You good?” Lila asked quietly.

“Define good.”

Lila snorted. “At least you look like a boss b***h today.”

The CEO and two VPs arrived via video link. Elara took a breath and launched in.

“Today’s focus is the atrium and collaboration zones,” she began, clicking to the first render. “We’ve incorporated biophilic design principles throughout, living green walls that filter air and reduce stress, modular seating pods with acoustic privacy, and dynamic LED lighting that mimics natural daylight cycles.”

The CEO leaned forward. “Love the waterfall feature in the lobby. Can we scale it up? Make it a central sculptural element?”

“Absolutely,” Elara said. “We can integrate recessed LED strips behind the falling water for nighttime ambiance. It becomes both functional and iconic.”

Questions flew. Budget concerns. Timeline adjustments. Sustainability certifications. Elara answered each one smoothly, pulling data from her notes, suggesting alternatives when needed. By the end of the hour the client was beaming.

“This is exactly the vision we had,” the CEO said. “We’re green-lighting phase two immediately. And Elara, we’d like to feature Voss Visions in an upcoming Tech Design Quarterly spread. Full photo shoot, interview, the works.”

The room erupted in quiet cheers from her team. Elara smiled, genuine this time. “Thank you. That means a lot.”

After the call ended, Jake high-fived her. Sarah hugged her impulsively. “You crushed it, boss.”

For the first time in days, Elara felt solid. Her work hadn’t betrayed her. Her talent hadn’t lied. This, this was hers.

Lila waited until the room cleared before cornering her. “Okay, spill. You look like you’re running on fumes and spite. What happened after the grovel fest?”

They retreated to Elara’s office. Door closed. Lila poured two coffees from the machine in the corner.

Elara sank into her chair. “Breakfast in bed. Attempted makeup s*x. Phone interrupted. Same old song.”

Lila’s eyebrows shot up. “He still can’t keep it in his pants for one morning?”

“Not even that. Just, the pattern. The secrecy. I stopped him halfway. Couldn’t fake it.”

“Good for you.” Lila perched on the edge of the drafting table. “You don’t owe him performance art. Especially not after what he pulled.”

Elara rubbed her temples. “I know. But part of me still loves him. Or loved who I thought he was.”

Lila softened. “That’s normal. Three years isn’t nothing. But love shouldn’t feel like walking on eggshells.”

Silence stretched. Then Lila pulled out her phone. “Speaking of not walking on eggshells, I did some light stalking last night.”

Elara’s stomach flipped. “Lila.”

“Don’t ‘Lila’ me. You gave me a name. Damian Black. Artist. I googled.” She turned the screen. “Feast your eyes.”

The first image showed a gallery opening: Damian in a black button-down, sleeves rolled, standing beside a massive canvas of churning midnight blues and violent golds. He looked every bit as intense as she remembered.

Next photo: him at an auction, arms crossed, profile sharp against spotlights. A headline underneath read Billionaire Artist Damian Black Sells Record-Breaking Abstract for Eight Figures.

Elara blinked. “Billionaire?”

“Old money from investments, new money from art. Owns galleries in Chelsea, Miami, Paris. Divorced a few years back, messy, ex ran off with his former partner. Sound familiar?”

“Too familiar.”

Lila scrolled to a more recent shot: Damian on a beach at sunset, shirtless, paintbrush in hand, waves crashing behind him. The tattoo on his shoulder gleamed, swirling waves, just as she remembered.

“He texted you this morning,” Lila said. “I saw the notification when you left your phone on the desk.”

Elara flushed. “He did. Asked how I was holding up.”

“And you replied?”

“‘Surviving. Coffee soon?’”

Lila grinned. “That’s my girl. Now listen. You need space. Real space. Not just a night on the couch. Book a weekend somewhere. Ocean, spa, no Alex, no drama. Clear your head.”

Elara leaned back. “I can’t just leave.”

“Why not? Your team’s got the startup project humming. You just got a magazine feature locked in. You deserve a breather.”

The idea took root slowly. Salt air. Crashing waves. No buzzing phones. No pleading eyes.

“Where?” Elara asked.

Lila was already typing. “Montauk has some gorgeous spots. Gurney’s Resort, oceanfront, spa, super private. Or Shou Sugi Ban House in the Hamptons. Wellness-focused, Japanese-inspired, all about reflection and renewal. Perfect for a betrayed queen to reset.”

Elara stared at the screen Lila shoved under her nose. Images of serene suites with floor-to-ceiling windows, private decks overlooking the Atlantic, infinity pools blending into the horizon. It looked like peace.

“I could say it’s for inspiration,” Elara murmured. “Research for a potential coastal client.”

“Exactly. Work-related. Totally legit.”

Elara’s finger hovered over the booking link. Her heart pounded. “I’d be gone three days. Maybe four.”

“Even better.”

Before she could talk herself out of it, she clicked. Selected the dates, next weekend. Entered her card. Confirmation email pinged instantly.

“Done,” she whispered.

Lila whooped quietly. “That’s my girl. Now text the hot artist and tell him you’re going radio silent for a bit. Let him stew in anticipation.”

Elara laughed despite herself. She pulled out her phone.

Damian’s last message still glowed: Thinking of you. Hope you’re okay.

She typed: Rough week, but I just booked a solo getaway. Montauk. Need to breathe. Talk when I’m back?

His reply came almost immediately: Good call. Ocean has a way of washing things clean. Safe travels, Elara. I’ll be here.

A small, secret smile curved her lips.