> She left to escape the obsession. But she didn't realize she'd become obsessed too.
---
The storm had been following her since Vienna.
First, a drizzle in the airport lounge.
Then a grey sky shadowing her cab in Croatia.
Now, full-blown thunder as Elara stood before the glass doors of a seaside inn in Montenegro, shaking from head to toe. Wet. Barely breathing. Her skin sticky from the humidity. Her thoughts, even stickier.
She had run.
Left her passport behind. Left her clothes. Left her phone—especially her phone.
Because if she didn't, she knew Aurora would find her.
And she didn't trust herself not to answer.
---
Inside the inn, the walls were warm-toned. Soft beds. Kind staff. No security cameras. No luxuries. No Aurora.
At least… not at first.
---
Two days later
Elara couldn't sleep.
She had eaten nothing but crackers. Kept the curtains closed. Showered with the lights off.
She was supposed to feel free.
Instead, she felt raw. As if a phantom hand was still touching her thigh, brushing her hair back, whispering in her ear.
"You belong to me."
She jerked awake from the memory. Her heart thudded against her ribs like a trapped animal.
---
She stared at her reflection in the foggy bathroom mirror.
Sunken eyes. Bruised lips. Bite marks on her shoulder that still hadn't faded.
She reached up to touch them — and paused.
There was something written on the mirror.
Words formed from the condensation, slowly… painfully…
"Do you miss me now, angel?"
Elara stumbled back, her breath hitching.
She hadn't written that. No one had come in.
And yet the scent of Aurora's perfume lingered in the steam — expensive, sinful jasmine.
---
Flashback hits her hard.
> Her knees on silk sheets, wrists pinned down, Aurora above her, laughing breathlessly.
"You say no," she'd whispered, "but your body begs me for yes."
Elara dropped to the floor, hands over her ears.
She should've hated her. But all she could feel was that deep, ugly ache.
The kind of ache that made you want to be ruined again.
---
Midnight
Rain lashed against the windows. Thunder cracked.
Elara sat cross-legged on the floor in Aurora's old shirt — the only thing she brought with her. She pressed her face into the sleeve, inhaling it like a drug.
That's when she heard it.
A soft creak.
The doorknob turning.
Her breath caught.
She knew that sound.
The door opened.
And standing there, wet from the storm, eyeliner smudged, hair windblown…
Was Aurora.
---