The words I never gave you

Chapter 5

December 03, 2025

Dear Diary,

The past few weeks have flown by in a whirlwind of lectures, late-night cramming, and the subtle shifts in Elysium’s social ecosystem. Elena Miller—that enigmatic girl who crashed into my world like a comet—has somehow wormed her way into my inner circle. It started innocently enough: a casual chat after debate class, then inviting her to join our study group for finals prep. Jason, William, and Austin were skeptical at first, ribbing me about “adopting the scholarship stray,” but even they’ve warmed up. She’s sharp, contributes without dominating, and her insights on economics? Spot on. Consequently, the ripple effect hit the rest of the school. People who once ignored her or whispered about her “Midwest roots” now nod politely in the halls, offer her seats in the lounge, or even invite her to minor events. It’s fascinating how proximity to power elevates you here. Elena takes it in stride, though—never gloating, just quietly proving she belongs.

We’ve done a ton of group studies together, huddled in the library’s private alcoves or the campus suite. Bianca was very cool about it, all gracious smiles and “the more the merrier” vibes. Sarah and Erica? Not so subtle. Their attitudes scream disapproval—side-eye glances, clipped comments like “Oh, Elena’s joining again?” They see her as an intruder, a threat to our perfectly curated bubble. And Elena? She avoids them like the plague, ducking conversations or burying her nose in notes when they approach. It’s odd; if there’s one thing I’ve learned about Elena Miller, it’s that she doesn’t intimidate easily. She’s the girl who stole my seat and beat my math record without flinching. So why the evasion? Maybe it’s the class divide—her scholarship world clashing with their old-money entitlement. Or perhaps she senses the undercurrents I pretend not to notice.

Anyway, with finals wrapping up, everyone’s buzzing about the Christmas holiday. As per tradition, our group is jetting off to Bianca’s family villa in the French Riviera—a sprawling estate on the Côte d’Azur, complete with private beaches, infinity pools, and staff that anticipates your every whim. It’s our annual escape: sun-soaked days, yacht parties, and zero responsibilities. Father approved my absence with his usual grunt, more focused on the latest Tesla prototype launch than my social calendar.

Speaking of Father, I had a meeting with him this afternoon—another “strategy session” where he droned on about succession plans and how I need to “step up” post-graduation. By the time I escaped to my room, I was drained. But there was Bianca, already knee-deep in my walk-in closet, packing my suitcase like a pro. She has full access to everything: house keys, my schedule, even my personal safe. It’s her way of playing wife, and honestly? I don’t mind. We’re not married yet—technically—but she’s embraced the role with enthusiasm. Despite her princess upbringing—private jets, couture wardrobes, the works—she’s down-to-earth about this stuff. No relying on servants for personal matters; when it comes to me, she’s hands-on, attentive, caring. It’s endearing, really.

I crept up behind her, aiming for a surprise hug. She chuckled before I even touched her, recognizing my footsteps. “Edward, you’re terrible at stealth,” she teased, leaning back into me. I buried my face in her neck, inhaling that intoxicating scent—fresh like newly fallen snow, with hints of lavender and something uniquely her. Her skin was so soft, smoother than silk, begging to be touched. My lips found her pulse point, kissing gently at first, then trailing down her collarbone as my hands worked the buttons of her blouse. She sighed, melting against me, her body responding instantly. Clothes hit the floor in a hurry—her blouse, my shirt, her skirt pooling at her feet. I lifted her onto the bed, our kisses deepening, hungry.

I took my time with foreplay, savoring every inch. My hands explored her curves, thumbs circling her n*****s until they pebbled under my touch. She arched, whispering my name like a prayer. I kissed lower, down her stomach, parting her thighs with gentle insistence. She was already wet, ready for me, and I dove in, my tongue tracing slow circles around her clit. Her fingers tangled in my hair, pulling me closer as I licked and sucked, alternating pressure to build her up. “Edward… oh God,” she gasped, hips bucking. I slipped two fingers inside her, curling them just right, matching the rhythm of my mouth. Her moans grew louder, sweeter, driving me wild. She came hard against my lips, her body shuddering, thighs clamping around my head as waves of pleasure rolled through her. I lapped up every drop, prolonging it until she was breathless, begging for more.

I couldn’t wait any longer. Positioning myself, I entered her slowly, inch by inch, feeling her tightness envelop me. She was so warm, so perfect. I thrust gently at first, deep and deliberate, our eyes locked. Her legs wrapped around my waist, pulling me closer, her nails digging into my back. “Harder,” she murmured, and I obliged, picking up pace but keeping it intimate—deep strokes that hit every spot. Her sweet moans filled the room, a symphony that pushed me to the edge. “You feel so good,” I groaned, feeling the build-up. She clenched around me, coming again, and that sent me over— I came inside her, wave after wave, filling her completely. But we weren’t done; the intensity lingered, and I kept moving, drawing out another o****m for both of us. Multiple peaks, bodies slick with sweat, until we collapsed in a tangle of limbs.

Afterward, Bianca rested in my arms, her head on my chest, our breaths syncing. The room smelled of us—musk and satisfaction. That’s when I broached the question gnawing at me for days. “Babe, I was thinking… do you mind if Elena joins us for the Christmas retreat this year?”

Silence stretched, feeling like an eternity. My heart raced—would she probe? Demand reasons? But she just traced patterns on my skin and said, “Well, I don’t know her well, but if you want to invite her, I don’t mind.”

Relief washed over me. “Thanks, babe.” I didn’t have to justify it—the study sessions, the curiosity about Elena’s fire. I gazed at her beautiful face—those soulful eyes, radiant skin, wavy blonde hair splayed like a halo. How did I get so lucky? That familiar feeling hit: heart pounding, stomach swirling with butterflies. Oh my God, why do I always feel like this around her? The first time it happened, I asked Steve about it. “Sounds like you’re falling in love, young master,” he’d said with a wink. But I brushed it off. Love? That’s a fairy tale for the masses, not us elites with our arranged destinies. No, I’ve got my own theory: it’s the wholeness after making love, the way she completes me in those moments. Like puzzle pieces locking into place.

Just thinking about it stirred me again. “Round two?” I whispered, and she smiled that siren smile, pulling me down. We went for it—slower this time, more exploratory, but just as mind-blowing. Touching the sky with a finger, as they say. My Bianca, my siren. She lures me in every time, and I wouldn’t have it any other way.

Edward