Later that evening, Elara sat cross-legged on her bed with a notebook balanced on her knees. She had tried, at first, not to think about the afternoon. The elevator. The man with steel-gray eyes. The suffocating feeling of his arms around her. She then pushed all of it to the back of her mind like folded paper she did not want to open yet. Instead, she thought of the salon dinner. Elara imagined the room and the people who would listen to her sing without clapping too loudly. She wondered what she should wear, then wondered why she should care, she could go in one of her dresses, she couldn't properly go shopping because of a small gathering.
But still, she knew she had to find a small job later, something that would let her support herself without owing anyone too much. She shouldn't rely heavily on The Vale's sponsorship.
Then the music called her back. Elara lowered her gaze to the paper in her hand. Lines and half-lines filled the page. She swirled the pen in her hand and leaned forward. This song had to matter. It shouldn't be too loud, just honest enough to linger in the mind of the listeners. She wrote a few more words, paused, crossed one out, then smiled faintly to herself.
Make it memorable, she reminded herself.
She had just started humming under her breath when a loud knock hit the door. Elara almost jumped.
She stared at the door for a second, then relaxed, already guessing the intruder. "Come in," she said with a quiet sigh.
The door opened, and Ziva entered like a small storm with opinions. First came her shoes, flat and loud, as if they were offended by the floor. Then the stockings, mismatched in color with her gown, but worn with full confidence. She stepped in sideways, because both her hands were full of shopping bags that rustled dramatically with her every move. She kicked the door shut with her heel and nodded to herself as if that alone deserved praise. Then she marched to the desk. The bags landed on it with a soft thud. Ziva dropped into the chair, and sighed as though she had just returned from saving the world.
Elara blinked, then looked at the bags. "What's all that?" she asked.
Ziva waved a hand tiredly. "Air. Dreams. Fabrics with destiny."
Elara stared dumbly.
Ziva leaned back against the chair, crossing one leg over the other. "The senior staff who called me in," she said, like someone announcing a historic event. "Very serious face. Very quiet office. She told me about tomorrow's party and said you need proper dresses."
Elara's heart skipped. Dresses. She thought.
At first, she felt nothing. No excitement Just a feeling of discomfort. Mrs Vale's kindness pressed down on her again. First the sponsorship. Then the Invitation to her private dinner. Now dresses. It felt like standing in a room with no windows, only favors.
"I could have bought my own," Elara said softly while Ziva studied her over the rim of her glasses. "You could. But they already exist. So. Tragedy avoided."
Elara forced a smile, then her gaze dropped back to the bags. Suddenly, another thought crept in. She looked up again.
"…Wait." she exclaimed.
Ziva raised a brow in curiosity.
"You went to get them?" Elara asked.
Ziva's lips curled. "Of course."
Elara imagined Ziva picking dresses. Ziva's sense of style and her confidence. Her mouth opened, then closed.
Ziva stood abruptly. "Enough standing like a confused statue. Come and check them out already."
Elara got up, already preparing herself for whatever she sees next. Ziva opened the first bag with a proud expression. Inside was a simple evening dress. The color was deep and calm, not too bright nor too dark. Exactly the kind of thing Elara liked. The second bag held a dress of another style, but same elegance. The third followed the same taste.
Elara froze.
She turned slowly to Ziva, eyes wide. "You—"
Ziva lifted a finger. "Do not stare at me like that. It is distracting and slightly insulting."
"These are… my style," Elara said.
"I know," Ziva replied easily.
Elara's disbelief cracked into something warm, admiration flickering in her eyes. "You picked these?"
Ziva made a face almost immediately. "No." she said.
The admiration Elara had just felt collapsed into smithereens.
Ziva adjusted her glasses. "I went to receive the package from Mrs Vale. At the Vale's mansion."
"Oh," Elara said after a long pause. Of course. Mrs Vale. Not Ziva. She had really been foolish for thinking Ziva picked those dresses.
Ziva watched her closely. "You look like someone whose dramatic thoughts just tripped and fell down the stairs."
Elara exhaled. "I thought… never mind."
Ziva shrugged. "Either way, you'll wear one tomorrow, sing beautifully, and pretend you're not surrounded by people who think money can buy souls."
Elara laughed quietly despite herself. Ziva stood and patted her shoulder. "Now pick one. Overthinking ruins good fabric."
Elara looked back at the dresses, her fingers brushing the cloth. And for a moment, the collision with Adrian flashed through her head before she shook it away again.
–
In a dim and slightly murky room. Heavy curtains were pulled halfway across the tall windows, letting in only the thin glow from the moon outside. The air felt thick and warm, smelling faintly of expensive perfume, sweat, and the red wine left open on the nightstand.
Low sounds filled the space: the quick rustle of fabric, the creak of the mattress frame, muffled gasps and hurried breaths that came too fast to be anything soft or tender. On the wide bed lay two figures tangled together.
The man was middle-aged, broad-shouldered, thick through the chest and stomach. Gray streaked his dark hair at the temples. His face was flushed, eyes half-closed, mouth parted as he moved over her with heavy, careless rhythm. One large hand gripped her hip, the other braced beside her head, knuckles white against the pillow.
The woman beneath him was much younger. Her pale skin gleamed faintly with sweat in the low light. Her lips were parted, swollen from earlier kisses that had been more teeth than gentleness. Her hands clutched at the man's back, nails digging in. Her eyes were open, staring up at the ceiling, as if she were somewhere else entirely.
Suddenly, the door flew open and slammed against the inside wall with a sharp crack.
"Livieeennnne!!!!"
The shout sliced through the room like a knife. The woman's body jerked. Her eyes snapped opened wide at once.
A young man stormed in without pause, eyes blazing, fists already clenched. He did not stop to look or think. He crossed the room in three long steps and swung his arms. The punch landed hard. The man on the bed cried out, more offended than hurt, scrambling upright and grabbing at the sheets to cover himself. "Are you insane?" he barked, half naked and fully furious.
Riven did not answer. He went for him again.
The room exploded into chaos as the two men struggled, knocking into the bedside table.
Livienne quickly moved. In a blink, she had slipped out of bed and pulled on her dress with practiced motions, fixing the strap on her shoulder as if this were a minor inconvenience. She stepped forward, grabbed Riven by the collar, and yanked him back with surprising strength.
"Enough." she scolded dragging him toward the door while the man on the bed was still swearing and muttering threats that no one would take seriously. Livienne shoved Riven out into the hallway and slammed the door behind them.
Then she released him and stood there, her chest rising and her eyes blazing. Riven also stood in front of her, just as angry too.
"How could you burst in like that?" Livienne snapped. "Are you out of your mind?"
Riven gave a humorless laugh. "Me? Out of my mind?" He stepped closer. "You disappear, you lie, and I'm the problem?"
Her eyes narrowed. "Why are you following me around like some jealous guard dog?"
"Because you betrayed me!" he shot back.
Livienne laughed coldly. "Betrayed you?" she echoed. "Riven, do you think I don't know about all your little adventures?"
Riven froze for a second. His gaze shifted, awkward and guilty, like a boy caught with ink on his hands.
"I kept quiet because I already knew. Men are men. You included." Livienne said coldly.
Riven straightened, pride rushing back to his face. "Of course I'm a man. That's normal."
Livienne tilted her head. "Then don't act shocked."
She stepped closer. "At least I'm doing this for a reason."
His jaw tightened. "You mean...?"
She smiled. "Now you understand."
They stood like that for a moment, staring at each other. Then Riven turned away, running a hand through his hair. He took two steps, then he turned back. Before she could react, he grabbed her arm and pulled her against him.
"I love you too much," he said, voice low and strained. "So much that I don't even know when I stopped being angry and started being afraid."
Livienne scoffed, though her hands did not push him away. "That's not a confession. That's a complaint." she said.
He laughed quietly, forehead resting against hers. "Anyhow your brain process it."
"You're impossible." she said sighing tiredly.
"And you're shameless," he replied.
She smiled faintly looking up at him proudly. "We match."
They stood there a moment longer, before Livienne finally stepped back and smoothed her dress.
"Next time," she said, "knock."
Riven smirked. "Next time, don't give me a reason to kick the door down."
She rolled her eyes and walked past him, her heels clicking sharply down the hall, leaving him standing there unmoving...