nia

Alcina was, in fact, in need. All day long she watched the reader work, sweat dripping down their body, and Alcina couldn’t help but gulp.

She tried to hide it — really. Acting all composed in front of her daughters, when in truth, all she could think about was the reader working her up — instead of that goddamn wood the reader was chopping.

𓈒𓏸𓈒꙳𓂃 𓈒𓏸𓈒꙳𓂃 𓈒𓏸𓈒꙳𓂃 𓈒𓏸𓈒꙳𓂃 𓈒𓏸𓈒꙳𓂃

Alcina was pinned down on her own bed, the Reader straddling her. Her wrists were held firmly against the mattress as the Reader trailed kisses down her throat.

Moaning, “Please,” she squirms beneath the Reader.

“Please what, my lady?” the Reader taunts, one hand ghosting over her damp core.

Alcina groans, eyes glistening.“Just fuck me already,” she breathes.

The Reader laughs, eyes dangerously wandering over Alcina’s form — watching her chest rise and fall, her legs pressing together around the hand that held her still.

The Reader shifts, gently parting Alcina’s legs, wanting to take in every inch of her. A low growl escapes their throat as their hand glides up and down her leg, tracing the curve of her thigh. Their gaze lingers on the soft slope of her lower belly — that tender little rise just beneath the waist — and the faint stretch marks that trail from there to her hips. To the Reader, they are art, living brushstrokes of beauty. What Alcina once called imperfections now shine like something divine, and the sight alone stirs something deep within the Reader — admiration tangled with desire.

Adjusting Alcina’s leg slightly, the reader opened it wider, giving them better access to what lay between her thighs. The Reader leaned closer, pressing the bulge in their pants against Alcina's bare core. The movement drew a low sound from Alcina’s throat, her body instinctively responding to the Reader’s touch.

While Alcina still lingered in that fleeting moment of relief, the Reader pulled back, standing just far enough to slide off the pants they still wore.

Alcina’s eyes followed every movement, her gaze lingering over the Reader’s form. She bit her lip, a shiver of anticipation curling through her chest. When her eyes finally landed on the strap the Reader wore—larger this time than before—her breath hitched, and she couldn’t help but lick her lips.

“Like what you see, my lady?” the Reader smirked as they climbed back over Alcina. They didn’t wait for her answer—instead, they captured her lips in a deep, hungry kiss, as if starved for her. Alcina melted beneath their touch, surrendering to their lead; she trusted the Reader completely, letting go with quiet abandon.

While devouring her mouth, the Reader guided the strap down Alcina’s core, coating it with her essence and using it as a natural lubricant before slowly, fully entering her. They paused once the strap was completely inside. Palming one of her breasts while sucking the other, Alcina threw her head back in pleasure, and the Reader watched, captivated by how beautifully it suited her. When she realized the Reader wasn’t moving, she took the initiative, beginning to move her hips.

But the Reader pinned her down, their grip on her hips firm and commanding. Alcina shivered beneath their touch, the authority in their tone leaving no room for defiance. “Ah, ah, ah. No moving, draga,” they teased, lips curling into a playful pout that sent another wave of heat through her.

Alcina could only let out a low groan in protest.

When the Reader was satisfied with her behavior, they began to move their hips—slowly at first, letting Alcina get used to the size of the strap.

Then, like a creature caught in pure desire, their movements grew faster, driven by the sounds spilling from Alcina’s lips. They thrust with deliberate force, positioning one of her legs on their shoulder, trailing reverent kisses along her skin before resting their face against it, breathing her in as if she were divine—all while keeping a relentless rhythm. Not quite satisfied with the angle, the Reader grabbed her legs and forced them up, folding them until her knees nearly pressed against the sides of her head. With her body stretched open like this, they plunged into her fully, taking her without restraint.

Alcina clawed at their back, nails dragging down as she held on for dear life. Her moans came in waves, the Reader’s name falling from her lips like a prayer.

“Oh, iubirea mea, continuă, îmi place.”

The Reader caught Alcina’s hands as they instinctively reached for something to hold, pinning them above her head. Yet, their movements remained fast and unwavering. One hand roamed down to her clit, pressing their thumb to apply more pressure, heightening every sensation.

“Look at me, Alcina… watch what I am doing to you." Alcina obeyed, her eyes glistening with unshed tears.

Alcina’s soft whines and moans were music to the Reader’s ears as they circled her clit with slow, teasing pressure. Then, pressing her lips apart, they captured her clit between their fingers and gave it a sharp, delicious pinch.

“You like this, don’t you, my lady? Your hole, being used like this… by me,” the Reader laughed, their hands still teasing her clit as their hips drove relentlessly into her.

To draw out more sound, the Reader slowly pulled out completely, watching her wet hole clench desperately around nothing, aching for the strap to fill her again. Alcina groaned at the loss. “What?—”

Then, with a deep, precise thrust, they sank back in, so smoothly hitting the spot perfectly. Alcina’s face twisted in pleasure, mouth agape. She tried to free her hands, but the Reader’s grip was unyielding.

The Reader could feel it—the way Alcina tensed beneath them, how tightly her core held the strap, signaling her nearing climax. But they didn’t stop, nor did their rhythm falter. They continued moving in and out of her, watching her every reaction, until she begged silently with her body.

“If only you could see how your hole waits to be filled again when I pull back,” the Reader murmured, slowly guiding the strap back inside. They maintained the rhythm, waiting for Alcina to snap.

Not long after, a rush of white liquid ran down her core. Her moan was loud, careless of who might hear—her mind consumed entirely by sensation. The Reader looked down at her, captivated by how undone she was, how perfectly she yielded.

They couldn’t help but murmur, enchanted by her beauty in this state, longing to worship her endlessly.

Without hesitation, the Reader captured her lips in a deep, hungry kiss. Their hands roamed upward, massaging her breasts, pinching her nipples, drawing soft mewls of pleasure from Alcina.

After the kiss, the Reader pulled back to really look at Alcina’s face. Their eyes met, and the Reader gave a soft smile, tracing her features with gentle fingers. Alcina’s golden eyes softened; she closed them, simply feeling the tender path of the Reader’s touch.

The Reader pressed a soft kiss to Alcina’s forehead before standing up. Alcina opened her eyes in confusion, but the Reader only smiled. Still bare, they walked to the bathroom, retrieved a clean towel, and dampened it to gently clean Alcina. The way the Reader wiped Alcina was with utmost care. Despite the hard labor they endured and the callouses that marked their hands — hands used to heavy work around the castle — they handled Alcina as though she were something precious. Though they knew how capable and strong she was, the Reader simply wanted to show her how deeply they cared. Neither of them could yet put it into words, but through their actions, they showed each other the love they both felt.

“We are not yet done, my lovely lady.” With a cheeky smile, the reader dove back into Alcina's core, right after she had wiped it clean.

Alcina's laughter melted into a moan as she gripped the reader's head.

𓈒𓏸𓈒꙳𓂃 𓈒𓏸𓈒꙳𓂃 𓈒𓏸𓈒꙳𓂃 𓈒𓏸𓈒꙳𓂃 𓈒𓏸𓈒꙳𓂃

Y/N was once her favorite maid—loyal, gentle, and devoted. That was what she used to be before being thrown into the dark dungeon, accompanied by the Moroaică that often stood outside her cell, their sharp weapons pointed at her as they tried to get closer but couldn’t. All because of what Alcina called betrayal.

Now, in the cell lay a woman who was once full of life, but now looked like a dead soul. Alive, yes—but was she truly? She couldn’t understand the lady who had put her there; she hadn’t even been given the chance to defend herself before being forced into the cell.

She remembered that day. Even though it hurt her, she replayed it in the back of her mind like a broken CD—because she didn’t want to forget, even if it felt like torture.

When Alcina barged into the maids’ quarters just to accuse her of something close to treason—of betraying her, of using Alcina’s kindness only to steal from her and plot her death in order to escape that forsaken place.

The accusation was heavy. Never in her life did she think she could do something like that—not when she had started to feel these confusing, growing feelings for her.

But now she lay there, curled up on the cold, damp floor like something worthless—unworthy of anyone.

Alcina taunted her. Or maybe it wasn’t Alcina herself, but the cries, the blood, the screams—everything happening down there. She kept asking herself why she was being tortured like this. If death was an option, why hadn’t it come for her yet? Wouldn’t it be better to rest, if there truly was an afterlife? Why make her suffer more? Why didn’t Alcina drain her like she did the others? Was her sin so unforgivable that she deserved this kind of punishment?

She didn’t even know how long she had been down there—weeks, months, or years? But she knew how many girls had been brought there and tortured… girls who now wandered these halls as monsters.

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Alcina woke from a nightmare—though she called it that, it was truly a memory. It lingered in her mind even on her busiest days. The smile, the kindness… they were forever imprinted on her thoughts.

She wanted to forgive, but she couldn’t. Every time she remembered that supposed betrayal, the pain returned—the thought that the woman she had almost opened her heart to could do something like that. Many had tried to reach her heart before, and all had failed, meeting the end they deserved for their useless, miserable lives.

Yet she couldn’t bring herself to do the same to Y/N.

Because her dead, unfeeling heart—if it could still be called that—simply couldn’t bear it.

She would rather see her suffer than see her dead—and then what? To be forgotten? She couldn’t bear that, even if it was cruel.

She was pulled from her trance by a hurried knock on the door. Her sharp eyes turned toward it, wondering who would dare disturb her at this hour.

Her first instinct was to shout—to demand that whoever was knocking stop immediately or face the consequences—but something within her hesitated, a faint tug that told her this one was allowed entry.

So she called out, “Come in.”

A few moments later, the door opened and a maid stepped inside. She was visibly nervous but managed to steady herself, giving a quick curtsy before speaking in a shaky voice.

“Please forgive me, my lady, for disturbing you… but I think you need to see this.”

The maid approached the bed, stopping just close enough to hold up a piece of clothing with jewelry tucked inside. Alcina’s eyes narrowed as she leaned forward for a closer look. It was her jewelry—the very pieces that had gone missing since Y/N’s supposed betrayal.

“Where did you find this?” Alcina asked, her voice low and sharp.

“It was in Monica’s belongings, my lady. I found it there while… clearing her things out.” The maid’s voice was barely above a whisper, trembling with fear—but Alcina heard every word clearly.

Confusion clouded Alcina’s face. Monica? The same woman who had tipped her off about Y/N’s betrayal—the one who had warned her of the supposed plot. The same woman whose presence once tempted her enough to almost share her bed… almost, like her old Y/N.

But now, she was in the dungeon for overstepping her bounds. Just because Alcina had once favored her didn’t mean she could act out.

Then again, Alcina began to think—how did it end up among Monica’s belongings? With a flick of her hand, she gestured for the maid to leave.

“Leave the jewelry on my vanity,” she ordered calmly. “And do not touch or move anything from Monica’s things. I want to see it all myself.”

The maid nodded quickly and bowed before hurrying out of the room.

After the door closed, Alcina felt a flicker of unease. Had she made a mistake? The thoughts in her mind began to spin like restless gears, and she swallowed hard.

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She walked through the maids’ hall, determined to see for herself if her suspicions were true. The moment she entered, every maid inside froze in place. With just one sharp glare from her, they all hurriedly scrambled out of the room.

She spotted Monica’s scattered belongings. Stepping closer, Alcina began to search through them—looking for something, anything, an answer to the questions clawing at her mind.

Between the fabrics, trinkets, and torn notes, her eyes fell upon a book—its pages worn and nearly falling apart. At first glance, it looked like an ordinary journal a maid might use to pass the time during quiet hours.

But as Alcina flipped through it, the pages revealed something far different. Tucked between the printed lines and margins were handwritten notes—neat, organized, and unnervingly detailed. They weren’t just idle thoughts. They were observations. Research.

“Subject: Lady Alcina Dimitrescu—one of Mother Miranda’s four creations. Base model: human, female, noble descent. Mutation induced through the Cadou parasite, resulting in extreme cell regeneration and growth beyond normal human limits.” “Height and mass are unstable—yet perfectly adapted. The subject requires regular consumption of human blood to maintain balance.” “Behavioral analysis: displays elegance and intelligence, yet extreme volatility under emotional stress. Prone to attachment despite denial of such weakness.”

Alcina’s expression hardened as she read, each word cutting deeper. It wasn’t just curiosity—it was study. She turned another page, the handwriting now looser, less formal.

“She hides her sorrow behind her grandeur. A lonely creature, desperate for warmth but unable to accept it.” “The maid, Y/N, seems to have drawn her attention. I’ve noticed the way my lady lingers when the girl speaks, the rare softness in her tone.”

“She doesn’t realize it yet, but Y/N has become her weakness.”

Her hands trembled slightly as she turned to the next section. The ink was darker here, the lines rushed.

“If I remove Y/N from the picture, perhaps my lady will finally see me. She’ll understand that I’ve always been loyal—useful. She won’t need the girl once she believes she’s been betrayed.”

Alcina stared down at the page, the realization sinking like ice through her veins. Monica hadn’t meant for anyone to find this—these were her private records, arrogant and careless, believing no one would ever read them.

But the truth was there, laid bare between the lines.

Y/N was innocent.

The weight of it hit her all at once—the anger, the disbelief, the guilt. She had been blinded by pride and rage, too consumed to listen, too certain of her own judgment. And now, the woman who had shown her nothing but gentleness was rotting in the dark because of her.

For a long moment, Alcina just stood there in silence. The book trembled in her grasp, her sharp nails digging into the worn cover. The mighty Lady Dimitrescu—always so sure of herself, always so commanding—suddenly felt small beneath the weight of her own mistake.

She looked around the room as if searching for an answer, but all she found was the echo of her own thoughts. The air felt colder now. Even the walls seemed to mock her with their silence.

Finally, she exhaled shakily and shut the book, her movements slow and heavy. The guilt sat in her chest like a stone. She couldn’t erase what she had done—no words, no power, no apology could ever undo it.

Still… she couldn’t ignore it either.

She straightened her posture, though her steps faltered slightly as she turned toward the door. The flicker of determination in her golden eyes was dim, but it was there—a fragile spark among the ruin she had created.

“Enough hiding,” she whispered to herself. “I must see her.”

And with that, Lady Alcina Dimitrescu—towering, graceful, yet hollowed by guilt—left the room, the book still clutched tightly in her hand as she made her way toward the dungeon.

Every step she took felt heavier than the last. The guilt sat deep in her chest, twisting like a knife. It had been so long since she’d last seen her—too long—and now, Alcina was terrified of what she might find waiting in that cold, forsaken place.

When she arrived outside the cell, Alcina felt the full weight of her own actions pressing down on her. Before she even saw her, she could hear it—the faint, fragile sound of a heartbeat. Even in the suffocating darkness, Alcina could make out Y/N’s form, lying on her side with her back turned to the world.

She was alive. Barely.

The food Alcina had ordered to be sent was scattered across the floor near the bars—untouched, spoiled, or thrown carelessly. Alcina couldn’t tell if it was Y/N’s doing or the maid’s neglect, and for a moment, she didn’t care. That wasn’t why she was here.

She was here to get Y/N out.

To face what she had done.

To make it right—if such a thing was still possible.

At the sound of the cell door creaking open, Y/N flinched—but she didn’t turn to look. Instead, she shut her eyes tightly and drew in a shaky breath. Whatever was about to happen, she only hoped it would end quickly.

Then she heard it—a soft voice calling her name. It was so faint, as if the speaker feared that even a whisper might shatter her completely. The voice was familiar, but Y/N didn’t care to think about it—not until she felt a touch.

Cold… yet soft.

The hand rested lightly against her shoulder, guiding her to turn around. Slowly, hesitantly, she opened her eyes—only to be met by a pair of glowing golden ones staring back at her.

She stiffened, her heartbeat quickening in panic. She wanted to sit up, to move away, but her body was too weak to obey. No sound came from her lips—her throat was too dry to even form a cry. Tears welled in her eyes as she struggled to pull herself free from Alcina’s hold, her trembling hands weakly pushing against her.

Alcina saw the desperation in Y/N’s movements—the way she wanted nothing more than to get away from her. The sight struck deep, a sharp pang of pain in her chest. Her lips trembled as she reached out helplessly, the only words she could manage slipping out in broken whispers.

“I’m sorry… please, forgive me…”

Her voice cracked, and for the first time in a long while, Alcina felt her eyes burn as tears began to fall.

She coaxed Y/N closer, pulling her into her arms even as the girl weakly pushed against her chest. Alcina didn’t let go—she couldn’t. No matter how much Y/N tried to fight her off, Alcina’s hold remained unyielding, desperate.

Eventually, Y/N’s strength gave out. Her trembling hands fell still, her body sagging against Alcina’s as the older woman continued to murmur apologies—soft, broken words of regret and self-loathing.

“I’m sorry… I was a fool… forgive me…”

They stayed like that for what felt like forever, the silence of the dungeon broken only by Alcina’s whispered pleas. Then, Y/N’s body went completely limp in her arms.

Alcina froze, panic rising in her chest before she realized Y/N had simply fainted—drained of what little strength she had left. Carefully, almost reverently, Alcina gathered her into her arms and stood.

Without another word, she turned and began the long walk out of the dungeon, her steps echoing softly against the cold stone walls.

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Weeks passed, and Y/N was still out cold. Alcina was worried—within the span of those weeks, Y/N was barely conscious and had even caught a fever. Alcina never once left her side; she made sure Y/N received the care she needed.

When evening came, Alcina would kneel beside the bed, clutching Y/N’s hand, pressing soft kisses against it, and murmuring apologies that sounded almost like prayers whispered into the night.

And tonight, as always, Alcina was kneeling—thanking Mother Miranda that Y/N’s fever had finally broken, though her eyes still remained closed. Once again, Alcina found herself in the same position, murmuring confessions, apologies, and even quiet promises.

But then, Y/N stirred. Alcina’s head snapped up, hope flickering in her golden eyes.

And when y/n eyes open alcina breathes a sigh of relief.

Y/N’s eyes slowly roamed around. The first thing she noticed was the softness beneath her—she was lying on a real mattress. The room around her felt familiar, yet strangely distant, like a place she once knew but could no longer recognize.

Then, she felt a gentle squeeze on her hand. Her eyes snapped to the side—and there she saw Alcina.

She sat up immediately, pulling her hand away from Alcina’s hold. But the sudden movement made her head throb, and the room seemed to spin around her. Groaning softly, she clutched her head, trying to steady herself.

“Careful…” Alcina murmured, gently guiding her to lie back down.

“You’ve been out for a week and haven’t had a single proper meal,” she reminded softly. “Your body is still weak.”

Y/N blinked a few times, trying to gather her thoughts. Her throat felt dry, her voice barely a whisper.

“Why… why am I here?” she asked, her words trembling. “Why didn’t you just let me die down there?”

Alcina froze at the question. The pain in Y/N’s voice cut deeper than any blade. She wanted to reach for her again, but the look in Y/N’s eyes—wary and full of hurt—made her stop.

“I couldn’t,” Alcina murmured, her voice breaking. “Not after what I’ve done. Not after knowing the truth.”

A moment of silence passed before Alcina snapped out of her thoughts. She reached for a glass of water and offered it to Y/N.

Y/N wanted to refuse, but the dryness in her throat reminded her how weak she truly was. Reluctantly, she accepted the glass. Alcina’s lips curved into a faint, relieved smile as she helped Y/N take a few careful sips before easing her back against the pillows.

Again, Y/N tried to sit up. When Alcina reached out to stop her, Y/N’s hand shot forward, gripping Alcina’s wrist firmly. She looked up, her tired eyes locking onto Alcina’s as if searching for something hidden deep within them.

“My lady…” she began, her voice faint but steady. Alcina parted her lips to speak, but Y/N continued, “I shouldn’t be here. If you’re not going to kill me, then I should go back to where I belong—to serve you. You told me once that no one leaves this place alive.”

Alcina looked desperate—her mind screaming at her to do something, anything. The weight of guilt clawed at her chest. She barely recognized the tone Y/N was using with her now—cold, distant, nothing like before.

When Y/N reached the door, her hand already on the knob, Alcina finally caught up to her.

“Y/N.”

The way Alcina said her name made Y/N freeze. Her voice was thick with desperation, heavy with all the words she couldn’t say.

But Y/N only turned the handle, ignoring the plea behind her.

And then—Alcina fell to her knees. A quiet sob escaped her lips, her voice trembling as she whispered,

“Please… ignore what I said before. You can hit me if you want, hate me if you must—but please… stay.”

Y/N froze, her back still facing Alcina, the sound of that soft thud echoing through the room like a crack in her chest. Alcina had knelt—for her. The realization sent a strange, painful shiver through her. The proud, composed woman who once towered above everyone now bowed to someone she had thrown away.

But the hurt was still there—raw, unhealed, festering in every corner of Y/N’s heart. Memories clawed their way up: the cold stone walls of the dungeon, the echo of her own cries, and above it all, Alcina’s voice accusing her of treachery. The voice that once spoke her name with such tenderness now turned into the sound of her damnation.

She had thought Alcina would believe her—had hoped she would listen. Because what they shared felt real, something fragile and precious. But that trust was shattered the moment Alcina chose doubt over her. And now, even as Alcina’s desperate pleas filled the air, Y/N’s body trembled with the war inside her—the ache of wanting to forgive, and the fear of being broken again.

Her heart screamed to stay. Her mind whispered to run.

So, with trembling hands, she turned the handle and quietly slipped out, the faint sound of Alcina’s sobs following her into the empty hall. Each step back to her old quarters felt heavier than the last, as if her heart itself was refusing to move on.

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Another week passed. The days had begun to blur together, falling into the same rhythm they once had when Y/N first arrived at the castle. Back then, she had been shy and timid—but happy, too. There was a light in her that shone quietly through her nervousness.

Now, that light was gone. Timid, yes—but no longer happy. No one had seen her smile since.

She threw herself into work, burying every thought and emotion beneath endless chores. It was easier to scrub, clean, and serve than to remember. Easier to stay busy than to feel.

And above all, she avoided Alcina. Not out of rage—Y/N never shouted, never wept, never showed any sign of anger. She simply existed, quiet and distant, as if her soul had faded into the background like the other nameless maids.

Whenever Alcina was near, Y/N would bow deeply, eyes fixed on the floor, refusing to meet her gaze. She made herself smaller, invisible even, as if being unseen could protect what little was left of her heart.

And of course, Alcina noticed.

She remembered the day after their brief encounter—Y/N had returned to work immediately, as if nothing had happened. But Alcina could see it all. She noticed how thin Y/N had become, how her once perfectly fitted uniform now hung loosely from her frail frame. Even though Y/N never spoke of it, Alcina could see her suffering, could almost feel the pain radiating from her—yet the girl kept working, refusing to stop.

At first, Alcina wanted to command her to rest, to recover. But she stopped herself. Not because she was indifferent, but because she thought this—caring for Y/N’s wellbeing silently—might be the first small way to make amends. So, she changed Y/N’s assignments, giving her lighter, less demanding tasks.

And then there was the matter of her meals. Alcina had noticed that Y/N always waited until every other servant had finished eating before she took her turn, often ending up with only scraps. Her portions were meager, hardly enough for someone who worked all day.

That was when Alcina decided to act. She summoned the head maid and gave strict instructions: every day, a freshly cooked, healthy meal was to be prepared—one meant only for Y/N. From that moment on, a tray always waited for her, set aside with quiet care that Y/N might never know came from the lady herself.

Alcina watched quietly from the sidelines as Y/N slowly began to recover. The hollowness in her cheeks faded, her color returned, and for the first time in weeks, she no longer looked like a ghost drifting through the halls. Seeing that small bit of life return to her made something in Alcina’s chest ache—a fragile mix of relief and guilt.

And so, Alcina planned something new. She remembered how much Y/N adored flowers—the way her eyes used to soften whenever she passed the garden. So, she gave specific instructions to the head maid: assign Y/N to help in the gardens.

The truth, however, was that the garden didn’t need tending; it was already perfectly kept. Alcina’s true intention was simple—to give Y/N a moment of peace, a space to breathe and admire the blooms she once loved.

When Y/N arrived at the garden, she immediately noticed how everything looked… finished. The flowerbeds were perfectly trimmed, the paths swept clean, every corner cared for. There was nothing left for her to do.

For a moment, she considered turning back, but then remembered what the old woman had told her—she could only leave when the set time came. So she sighed softly, shrugged to herself, and began to wander among the flowers. Eventually, she found a small chair tucked beneath a tree and sat down, quietly observing the vibrant colors that surrounded her.

For the first time in a long while, she felt a fragile sense of peace. No dungeon walls. No eyes watching her. Just her and the soft rustle of the wind between the leaves.

But then, her thoughts drifted—uninvited—to someone she’d been trying to forget. She barely saw Alcina anymore. She should have been relieved. She should have felt free. But instead, a faint, confusing ache settled in her chest.

Was it disappointment? Longing? She didn’t know.

Maybe she thought Alcina had finally come to her senses. That her pleas for forgiveness had only been a passing guilt.

After all, why would someone like her—a mere maid—deserve the attention of someone like Lady Dimitrescu?

Unbeknownst to her, the lady had always been there—watching from a distance. Much like today, Alcina stood quietly among the shadows of the garden’s edge, her golden eyes following Y/N’s every gentle movement.

She watched as Y/N sat in silence, the faint breeze brushing through her hair, her expression calm yet distant. It was a fragile kind of peace, one Alcina dared not disturb.

So she waited. She always waited—giving Y/N the time and space she needed. Alcina feared that if she rushed things, if she pushed too hard, Y/N might shatter completely… and this time, she wouldn’t come back.

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When Alcina noticed how healthy Y/N looked now—at least physically—she felt a quiet sense of relief. But deep down, she knew the truth: the wounds she had caused ran far deeper than the skin. The emotional damage Y/N had endured would never simply fade away. Some scars, Alcina realized, could not be healed by time or care alone.

At first, it was a letter—sent quietly to Y/N’s room. The words were careful, heartfelt, written as if Alcina were courting someone rather than seeking forgiveness. Every line carried a tenderness that Y/N didn’t expect, the kind that made her heart ache even more.

Then came the flowers. Every single morning, Y/N would wake to find three roses resting by her door—always fresh, always arranged with care.

It was her own doorstep now, as Alcina had instructed her to stay in one of the guest rooms, away from the servants’ quarters. Alcina feared what the other maids might do if Y/N remained among them. She had seen their glances, heard their whispers when Y/N passed by—some filled with envy that she had walked out of the dungeon alive, others murmuring about the special treatment she seemed to receive from their mistress.

Y/N was, of course, torn between her supposed resentment and that old feeling that felt like seeking to be freed again. But the hurt still lingers. She wants an explanation but couldn’t yet bring herself to ask, afraid she might cross another line.

But the way Alcina was acting, especially through her words in the letters—as if she was confessing—warmed something inside her that she kept forcibly pushing back.

Y/N didn’t answer any of the letters. She didn’t even write a single word back—just folded each one carefully and tucked it away in a drawer.

No, she didn’t want to speak through pen and paper. She wanted to speak to Alcina—to let her voice carry the weight of what she truly felt. She wanted the emotions she had buried for so long to finally flow freely, if ever she was given the chance to face her again. 

And that chance would come when Alcina became truly desperate. She was always pacing—around her room, her office, anywhere—waiting for something, anything: a sign, an answer to her letters. Every knock at her door made her heart leap with hope that it was Y/N on the other side.

But she never came.

Alcina waited until nighttime, when the castle fell silent and the only sound was the sharp click of her heels echoing through the marble halls. She couldn’t wait any longer. She needed to see her.

She knocked once—then twice. No answer. Pressing her ear gently against the door, she could faintly hear the soft rhythm of steady breathing. Y/N was asleep. Still, Alcina tried her luck. The door was unlocked. Quietly, she entered.

There she was—lying peacefully on the bed. For a long moment, Alcina just stood there, watching her. She had almost forgotten how breathtakingly beautiful Y/N was in stillness, untouched by fear or sorrow.

Alcina moved slowly as she approached, then knelt beside the bed. In a voice soft as a sigh, she whispered, “Te iubesc, draga mea.”

Y/n stirred, and Alcina remained perfectly still, waiting. At first, y/n thought she was dreaming when she heard the faint voice, but as her eyes fluttered open, her heart skipped a beat—shock flooding through her.

Her brows furrowed in confusion.

“M–My lady! What are you doing here?”

Alcina didn’t answer immediately. For a brief moment, she simply gazed at y/n, as if committing every detail of her sleepy face to memory. The golden hue of her eyes softened, trembling with emotions she could no longer contain.

“I couldn’t wait any longer…” she confessed quietly, her voice almost breaking. “I thought if I didn’t see you tonight, I might lose the courage to say what I’ve been meaning to tell you.”

Y/n sat up slowly, the blanket gathered around her like armor. Her eyes locked with Alcina’s, uncertain and searching. “If you came to talk,” she said softly, “then say what you need to say.”

Alcina’s heart swelled with a fragile sense of relief at the sound of Y/n’s voice. Carefully, she rose and sat at the foot of the bed, her movements deliberate—gentle, almost fearful, as though a single wrong gesture might shatter the fragile calm between them.

“First,” she began softly, her voice trembling despite her effort to keep it steady, “I want to apologize. I know that words alone could never earn your forgiveness, and by God, I will understand if you never find it in your heart to forgive me for what I’ve done to you.”

She paused, her golden eyes glistening under the dim light. “I’m not asking for forgiveness,” she continued, the corners of her lips tightening as emotion swelled in her chest. “But I am hoping—just hoping—that you won’t treat me as your mistress anymore. I want you to treat me the way you did before… when you still saw me as someone worth trusting.”

“But you broke that trust.”

Her words struck deep, and Alcina froze. For a moment, neither of them moved—the silence between them heavier than any scream could ever be. Slowly, Alcina lifted her gaze, her golden eyes filled with regret.

“Yes,” she whispered, voice trembling. “I broke it.” She swallowed hard, her composure slipping away. “That’s why I’m here tonight… I want you to know that I would do anything—anything—to earn it back.”

“What if…” Y/n’s voice faltered, the words trembling on her lips. She lowered her gaze, fingers tightening around the blanket as if it could give her strength. After a long pause, she finally continued, her voice soft but resolute.

“What if I asked you to free me? What if I said I wanted to leave this place?”

That did something to Alcina— Her composure shattered, and tears slipped freely down her cheeks, glistening in the candlelight.

“Ask anything but that,” she pleaded, her voice cracking under the weight of her emotions. “You are free here, Y/n. If you wish to go down to the village, I will allow it—” she paused, her throat tightening, “—as long as you come back. Here… to me.”

Her last words came out almost as a whisper, trembling with desperation and love she could no longer contain.

Y/n stared at Alcina, her chest tightening painfully as she fought to keep her tears from falling. Her lips parted, and for a moment, no sound came out—Then, in a quiet voice that carried all her confusion and longing, she asked,

“Why?”

Alcina’s breath hitched. For a second, she simply looked at her, eyes glimmering with sorrow and adoration. Then, with a voice that broke at the edges, she whispered,

“Why? Because I’ve loved you, Y/n. I’ve learned what love truly feels like… only when it was you.”

The silence that followed was heavy—filled with everything they could never take back, and everything they still wanted to believe in.

“You claim to love me, but you never listened.”

Y/n’s voice trembled, but her resolve did not. She refused to break—not yet. Not when the ache in her chest screamed for Alcina’s embrace, and yet her mind begged for answers first. She needed to understand. She needed to hear it all.

Alcina’s lips parted, her voice barely above a whisper. “Because… I was afraid,” she confessed, her eyes glistening. “Afraid that all of it was true—that if I looked into your eyes, I would see the truth I didn’t want to face. I thought you betrayed me… and yet a part of me refused to believe it. So I didn’t ask. I couldn’t. Because I knew that if you spoke, I would falter—I would forgive you, even if you truly were guilty.”

Y/n’s breath hitched, her face twisting in disbelief and pain. “So you let me suffer?” Her words came out sharp, raw. “You dragged me down there yourself. You heard me beg, you heard me cry, and still you wouldn’t listen—wouldn’t even give me a chance to defend myself!”

The air between them grew heavy—charged with grief, anger, and the remains of something that still resembled love.

“And do you know what else I learned?” Y/n’s voice cracked, the anger she’d been holding back finally slipping through. “Between you and Monica—your precious maid, the very one who framed me—you let her stand beside you. You let her touch you, while I was rotting away in the dark!”

Her words came out like a confession and a wound all at once. Tears welled in her eyes, but she blinked them back, refusing to let them fall.

“Do you even know what I felt at that time?” she continued, her voice trembling with both fury and heartbreak. “I thought what we had meant something. I thought you saw me—really saw me. You treated me differently, made me believe I was more than just another servant.”

Her breath hitched, her shoulders shaking. “But suddenly, all of it vanished. You dragged me down there and left me to rot like I was nothing.”

The pain in her words was sharp enough to make even Alcina flinch—each syllable a reminder of what her pride had cost.

Alcina shook her head desperately, her voice breaking as she spoke. “I’ve never—never slept with her,” she said, the words tumbling out in a rush. “I didn’t allow her to touch me. Wherever you heard that, it was a lie.”

She took a shaky breath, trying to steady herself, but her hands trembled. “Yes, I allowed her into my chambers,” she continued, “but only to drink from her. That was all.”

Her golden eyes glistened as she stepped closer, her voice trembling between confession and plea. “Yes, I left you there,” she whispered, guilt weighing down every word, “but you were never nothing to me, Y/n. Every night I dreamed of you—your voice, your tears, your screams. They  haunted me. My conscience wouldn’t let me rest, no matter how much I tried to silence it. You were always there… always in my mind.”

Y/n’s anger faltered at the rawness in Alcina’s voice. The sight of the woman—once so composed, now trembling and desperate—stirred something deep within her chest. Her fingers clenched the blanket tightly, as if to keep herself grounded while her heart wavered between resentment and longing.

“I… I don’t know what to say,” Y/n whispered, her voice unsteady. She wanted to look away, but Alcina’s eyes—filled with sorrow, regret, and something undeniably human—held her still. “You hurt me more than anyone ever could, and yet…” She took a shaky breath. “And yet, seeing you like this—it hurts in a different way.”

Alcina’s lips parted, a faint tremor in her breath as if she was afraid to speak, afraid to break whatever fragile thing had settled between them.

“I wanted to hate you,” Y/n admitted softly, her gaze dropping to her lap. “I told myself that every night when I was down there, that I’d never forgive you. But now…” She exhaled a long, trembling sigh. “Now I don’t even know if I’m angry anymore, or just tired.”

For a long moment, silence wrapped around them. Alcina remained seated, head slightly bowed in reverence, or maybe in shame. Then, tentatively, she reached out, her large hand stopping just short of touching Y/n’s.

Y/n didn’t pull away.

Not yet.

She stared at their hands, the sight of Alcina’s trembling fingers so close to hers making her chest tighten. For a brief, fragile moment, she wanted to let it stay—to feel that warmth again, to pretend that everything was as it once was.

But reality struck like a knife twisting deep within her.

Y/n slowly pulled her hand away, her movements gentle yet firm, as if afraid that too much force would shatter the moment completely. The sudden absence of touch made the air between them feel heavier, colder.

Alcina froze, her eyes following the retreat of Y/n’s hand. Her lips parted slightly, as though she wanted to say something, but no words came. The rejection wasn’t loud or cruel, yet it hurt all the same.

Y/n lowered her gaze, her voice soft but steady. “I… can’t,” she whispered, shaking her head faintly. “Not yet.”

Alcina swallowed hard, the faint tremor in her chest betraying the calm mask she tried to wear. She had already expected those words—prepared herself for them even—but hearing them still cut deeper than she imagined. Her throat tightened as she drew in a slow breath, forcing herself to stay composed.

“I understand,” she murmured, her voice barely above a whisper. “You’ve every right to feel that way.”

For a moment, silence hung thick between them, filled only by the faint crackle of the candle’s flame. Alcina’s eyes softened as she looked at Y/n, her gaze heavy with longing and remorse. “I will wait,” she said quietly, almost to herself. “No matter how long it takes… I’ll wait until you can look at me again without pain in your eyes.”

Y/n didn’t reply, but her shoulders trembled faintly. The words reached her—too tender, too sincere—and she hated that part of her still ached for the woman sitting before her.

Alcina, noticing the smallest flicker of emotion, dared not move closer. She only offered a faint, sorrowful smile before standing. “Rest now, draga mea,” she whispered, her voice breaking at the edges. “You’ve endured enough for tonight.”

Then, with one last lingering glance, she quietly turned toward the door, leaving Y/n alone with the echo of her heartbeat and the faint scent of roses and smoke that Alcina always carried.

⋆⁺｡˚⋆˙‧₊☽ ◯ ☾₊‧˙⋆˚｡⁺⋆

Y/n watched as Alcina remained unwavering in her devotion—every single day without fail. The woman who once made her tremble in fear now moved around her with such care, it almost felt unreal. Meals were brought to her room before she even asked, fresh flowers—her favorite—appeared in vases each morning, and the weight of any chore was lifted from her hands.

At first, Y/n tried to protest. It felt wrong to simply… exist while others work. One afternoon, when Alcina found her trying to help the other maids tidy the hall, Y/n turned to her in frustration. “My lady, I can’t just sit around and do nothing—let me at least help with something,” she insisted, her voice trembling between defiance and guilt.

But Alcina only approached her calmly, placing a gloved hand on her shoulder. “Y/n,” she said softly, yet firmly, “from now on, you are no longer a servant here.”

Y/n blinked, her breath catching as Alcina’s eyes—warm and unyielding—met hers.

“You may do whatever you like within these walls,” Alcina continued, her tone carrying that quiet authority Y/n had once feared, now softened with tenderness. “Read in the library, walk in the gardens, paint, rest—anything. But you will not work.”

Y/n’s lips parted, ready to argue, but the sincerity in Alcina’s gaze silenced her. There was no command in her voice this time—only devotion.

And then Alcina added, her voice barely above a whisper, “Because you are not my servant anymore… you are someone I cherish. Someone I wish to love freely, if you’ll ever let me.”

The words hung in the air like a confession, fragile yet powerful. Y/n froze, her heart hammering in her chest as her mind tried to grasp what she’d just heard.

⋆⁺｡˚⋆˙‧₊☽ ◯ ☾₊‧˙⋆˚｡⁺⋆ 

Y/n let time do its work. Slowly, the wounds that once felt impossible to heal began to close, though faint scars remained—reminders of what had been lost and what was now being rebuilt. Each day passed with quiet gestures that spoke louder than any promise could. Alcina never rushed her, never demanded forgiveness; she simply stayed true to her words.

Whenever Y/n passed through the halls, Alcina would greet her with a soft smile and a gentle nod, as if afraid that speaking too much might shatter the fragile peace between them. Sometimes she would leave small notes tucked inside Y/n’s favorite books, little messages written in elegant script—simple words like “I hope today brings you comfort” or “The garden is especially beautiful this morning—like you.”

Alcina never intruded but was always there, a steady presence in the background, ensuring Y/n had everything she needed without smothering her. And though she still carried the guilt of her mistakes, she was patient, letting her actions speak the apology her words never fully could.

For Y/n, it was a slow, uncertain journey. There were still nights she would wake trembling, the echo of her past fears creeping in—but now, instead of loneliness, there was a quiet warmth nearby, a candle left burning in the corridor outside her door. Alcina’s silent way of saying “I’m here.”

Wandering at night had never been a problem for her. But for someone who had only just moved into this town, perhaps it should have been. Still, she told herself otherwise — even as the darkness of the woods gathered around her. People had said it was safe, that there were no strange creatures or wild animals lurking here. She didn’t care much for their warnings; the only thing that ever truly unsettled her was the thought of a man waiting in the woods.

A flashlight in hand, a coat drawn tight against the October chill, she walked on — each step pulling her further into the forest, as though it were quietly beckoning her deeper and deeper.

She was just about to turn back, certain there was nothing left to see, when her gaze caught something in the distance. A shape, pale and grand, standing among the trees — a mansion. In the middle of the forest. What held her attention, though, was not its size but its elegance: the gothic lines of its roof, the faint traces of age, the way it seemed both beautiful and forsaken.

Drawn by fascination, she took a few careful steps closer. The mansion loomed larger with each pace, its walls wrapped in vines that lent it a strange, haunting grace.

Then — a sharp crack beneath her foot. A broken branch snapped her from her reverie. She glanced down at her phone; it was already late, the sky nearly black. With one last lingering look at the mansion, she turned and began the slow walk back home.

Inside, someone was watching — eyes following the retreating figure of the girl disappearing into the trees.

Alcina stood by the window, a faint smirk curling her lips. Even from this distance, she could smell her — the steady thrum of her heartbeat, the rhythm of her pulse, and that sweet, intoxicating scent of blood. It made her tongue trace slowly across her lips.

Larissa, passing by Alcina’s room, noticed her standing motionless by the window, her gaze fixed on something beyond the glass. Without a sound, she approached, her steps light and deliberate, curiosity flickering in her blue eyes.

“What has captured your attention so intently?” Larissa asked, her voice smooth and measured.

“A prey,” Alcina replied, lifting her glass with effortless poise before taking a delicate sip. “Unaware… yet remarkably enticing.”

✩₊˚.⋆☾𓃠☽⋆⁺₊✧

A few days had passed since her wandering.

And for just as long, she’d begun to feel as though someone was watching her—was it paranoia? She couldn’t tell. Every time she felt that heavy stare on her, she would look around, only to find no one there.

One afternoon, just before dusk, she was hurrying home when she bumped into a woman. She looked up to apologize—but froze.

The woman’s hair was styled in an elegant updo, and she wore heavy clothing despite the mild weather. Slowly, she removed her sunglasses—odd, considering the sun had already set. But what truly caught her attention were the woman’s eyes, a striking blue laced with grey, and her lips, painted a deep red that contrasted perfectly against her pale skin.

Those lips curved into a smile, and she blinked, quickly stammering an apology.

“It’s nothing, darling. I was in your way, so it isn’t your fault.” Her voice was smooth—too smooth, almost velvety.

Before she could say anything more, someone brushed past her—a man in a hurry, muttering a quick apology as he went. The sudden jolt broke her focus, and when she looked up again, the woman was gone.

She blinked, glancing around in confusion, but the street was empty. With a small frown, she straightened herself and continued on her way.

Back at the grand mansion, Larissa returned with a strange, unsettled feeling she couldn’t quite place.

In an instant, Alcina was upon her, blocking her path with predatory grace.

“I know what you’re up to,” Alcina whispered, her tone low and dangerous.

Larissa, entirely unfazed by the outburst, slipped from her grasp with practiced ease. She said nothing, merely straightened her coat and continued toward her room without a backward glance.

“Stop your delusions! You are trapped—forever bound to this endless life!”

With those words, she vanished. Larissa froze mid-step, her jaw tightening as her hand curled into a fist.

✩₊˚.⋆☾𓃠☽⋆⁺₊✧

Gasping for air, Y/n woke from her dream. It was strange—vivid in a way that left her uneasy—and she’d only started having dreams like this after visiting that old mansion in the middle of the forest.

Speaking of the forest, she decided to take a walk—not to wander too far or search for anything, but simply to breathe. Sleep wouldn’t come anyway. She didn’t bother changing, slipping only a shawl over her nightgown to keep herself warm against the chill.

Walking mindlessly, the only sounds she could hear were her own footsteps and the distant cawing of crows.

Unbeknownst to her, someone had been watching since the moment she stepped into the forest.

Hidden in the dark, eyes followed her every move—silent, patient, and far too close.

Then, a sudden gust of wind rushed past her, sharp enough to make her flinch.

She looked around, her heart beginning to pound. She stood still, observing her surroundings, but saw nothing—only the endless trees. To her confusion, it was quiet; the cawing of the crows and the chirping of crickets had suddenly vanished.

She glanced up. The moon was bright, yet faint red spots stained its surface, as if it were bleeding. A shiver ran through her. Suddenly, the forest seemed far too eerie, far too alive—like tonight might be the last night she would ever see the moon.

She felt it—someone, or something, was approaching from behind.

Normally, instinct would have made her turn around, but now she couldn’t. Her body refused to move.

Then came the scent—sharp, metallic, unmistakable. Blood. It was strong enough to make her scrunch her nose in disgust. For a moment, she was certain it was some kind of wild animal… until she heard it. Breathing. Right beside her ear. Followed by a faint, low chuckle.

Shock tore through her, and she spun around—and what she saw left her cold with terror.

A woman stood there, impossibly tall, dressed in white now stained with streaks of crimson dripping from her lips. When Y/n’s gaze finally reached her face, she met a pair of golden eyes glowing through the dark.

She stumbled backward as the woman’s smile widened, revealing gleaming fangs. Panic surged through her—she screamed and ran, faster than she ever had before. She didn’t know what kind of creature that was, but she knew one thing for certain.

It was a woman—an impossibly beautiful, impossibly dangerous woman.

And as she fled, a chilling laugh echoed behind her, a sound that told her she would not be allowed to escape alive.

She thought she’d run far enough to escape, but when her vision adjusted, she realized her mistake—she had gone the wrong way. Instead of finding her way out, she had run deeper into the forest. The trees here grew denser, their towering branches blocking what little moonlight had guided her before. Darkness pressed in from every side.

Leaning against a tree, she gasped for breath, a sob breaking from her throat. Tears stung her eyes as panic clawed at her chest. She cursed herself for ever coming here—for wandering into the woods at night when she should’ve been asleep like any sensible person. Instead, she’d walked straight into danger, and now she didn’t even know if she’d ever make it out again

Composing herself, she made sure it was safe to move again. Her eyes darted around, searching for any sign of that woman. When she found none, she took a shaky breath and began to run—only to be caught.

A cold hand clamped over her mouth, its touch like ice against her skin, pulling her back into an unyielding hold. Panic surged through her; she thrashed and kicked, muffled cries escaping beneath the hand that silenced her.

“Stop it. I’m not going to hurt you,” a woman’s voice murmured near her ear—low, smooth, and unnervingly calm.

Y/n froze. The woman’s body pressed against her back, cold as marble, sending shivers down her spine. Every instinct screamed at her to run, yet something in that voice—its quiet authority, its strange allure—made her hesitate.

When the woman was sure Y/n wouldn’t scream, she slowly lifted her hand from her mouth but didn’t let go, keeping her held firmly against her.

Slowly, Y/n turned, her breath shallow and her pulse unsteady.

The first thing she saw was a glint of pale hair—almost white under the moonlight—then a face emerging from the shadows. The woman was tall, impossibly poised, her beauty sharp and haunting.

For a fleeting second, Y/n felt relief that it wasn’t the same creature she’d seen before. But that relief vanished the moment the woman’s lips curved into a faint smile—revealing the unmistakable gleam of fangs.

Y/n’s heart lurched. Her vision blurred as fear consumed her. She didn’t know who this woman was, only that she wasn’t human.

Her knees gave out, and before the darkness claimed her, the last thing she felt was the chill of the woman’s hands catching her as she fell.

Larissa caught the trembling body with ease, lowering her gently to the forest floor. For a moment, she simply looked at her—the rise and fall of her chest, the warmth radiating from her skin, the faint scent of fear still lingering in the air.

“Foolish little thing,” she murmured, her voice low and almost indulgent. “You shouldn’t have wandered this far.”

Her fingers brushed a strand of hair from Y/n’s face, lingering there longer than they should have. The warmth beneath her touch stirred something she couldn’t quite name—something that felt dangerously close to longing.

Her gaze softened, just barely. “Perhaps,” she whispered, “you were meant to find me.”

With that, she gathered the unconscious figure into her arms, the forest seeming to part for her as she made her way back toward the mansion—silent, composed, and with a faint, knowing smile.

Larissa carefully laid Y/n’s unconscious body upon her bed. For a moment, she simply stood there, studying her. Her gaze traced the curve of her face, the line of her throat, the gentle rise and fall of her chest. She could hear it—the steady rhythm of her heartbeat, calm now, unlike before when it had raced so wildly she feared it might burst from her chest.

Larissa watched her without blinking, lost in that quiet pulse of life, until the sound of the door creaking open broke her trance. She didn’t need to turn; she knew who it was.

Alcina’s footsteps halted at the threshold. The silence between them was heavy, charged—predatory recognition. Then, with furious strides, Alcina stormed toward Larissa’s room.

Before she could tear the door open, Larissa was already there, meeting her halfway and pushing her back with measured force.

“I’ve been searching for her out there,” Alcina hissed, her eyes blazing. “And all this time, she’s been here?”

Larissa met her gaze, unflinching. “I told you not to touch her.”

“I saw her first,” Alcina shot back, her tone low and dangerous as she tried to move past her. But Larissa didn’t budge.

“That doesn’t mean she’s yours to drain dry,” Larissa warned, her voice cold as steel.

Alcina’s lips curled into a faint, taunting smile, something in her eyes shifting as she looked Larissa up and down.

“Oh, dear Larissa,” she began, her tone dripping with mockery. “Don’t tell me you still believe that old witch and her words?” Alcina laughed softly, the sound rich and cruel. “‘Love will come, happiness will last!’” she mimicked with a sneer, before laughing again—low and sharp.

Larissa said nothing, only standing there in silence, letting Alcina’s words wash over her.

“So many decades have passed,” Alcina continued, her voice softening into something almost curious. “Tell me—how did she end up here, hm? Did she willingly follow you?”

Larissa swallowed hard, her throat tightening as she turned away from Alcina’s gaze, her eyes finding the moon through the window. “She fainted,” she murmured, almost to herself.

“Oh, she fainted?” Alcina’s laughter returned, crueler this time. “Because she’s terrified of you. Of us. No sane person would follow you here out of love, Larissa. Everyone who wanders into these woods becomes food. What makes her any different?”

Larissa’s voice rose slightly, cracking with emotion. “She fainted before I could even say that to her… And do not question what I’ve done, Alcina, when I’ve never questioned you!”

A heavy silence filled the room.

Larissa’s hand went to her necklace—a silver locket she always wore. Alcina’s gaze lingered on it, knowing well what it contained: a faded photograph of Larissa’s wife. She had never seen the picture herself, not once in all the long years they’d shared the same mansion.

Larissa turned away without another word, stepping back into her room and closing the door behind her. Alcina remained where she stood, her gaze fixed on the closed door—her expression unreadable as the silence of the hall swallowed her whole.

✩₊˚.⋆☾𓃠☽⋆⁺₊✧

Larissa stood by the window, her gaze fixed on the still form lying on the bed, waiting for Y/n to awaken.

She recalled the days she spent quietly following Y/n around town, memorizing every detail—her mannerisms, the curve of her smile, the way she spoke to others. Everything was the same. Even the face. That was why Larissa chose to wait, no matter how long it took. Because she knew Y/n would return, and it would all be worth it when she finally saw the face of her beloved wife once more.

Even with Alcina’s cruel taunts echoing in her mind, Larissa remained unmoved. Alcina could never understand—what it meant to hold onto something, even when centuries had already slipped away.

Unbeknownst to her, in another room, Alcina sat drinking what appeared to be wine—though both of them knew it was not. Before her stood a large portrait, long hidden beneath a white cloth. It had gathered years of dust, nearly forgotten. Now uncovered, Alcina’s eyes softened as she traced the painted features, lost in memories she would never dare speak of.

Back in the room, Y/n stirred. For a moment, she had forgotten what had happened. Slowly, she opened her eyes, blinking away the haze of sleep—until the unfamiliar ceiling and heavy air around her made her pulse quicken. The memories returned like a wave. She wasn’t home.

Her eyes darted around the room, landing on Larissa, who stood still by the window, almost hesitant to move closer. The tension between them was palpable; one wrong step and Y/n looked ready to bolt.

Thankfully, she didn’t. She only pressed herself against the headboard, trying to make herself small, hoping not to draw attention.

“You don’t have to be afraid,” Larissa said softly, her tone calm but carrying something almost pleading beneath it.

Y/n didn’t respond—her heart was racing too fast, her instincts screaming that this woman could end her life in an instant.

Still, Larissa took a careful step forward. “I know you’re frightened… but you don’t have to be. Not with me.”

Her voice was steady now, quiet but firm. “I’m not going to hurt you. Never.”

Y/n hesitated, then slowly lifted her gaze to meet hers. She swallowed hard, trying to compose herself, and finally managed to whisper, “What are you?”

She almost cursed herself for it. Of all things to ask, that was what came out.

Larissa smiled faintly, the corners of her lips lifting just enough to reveal her fangs. She moved to sit gracefully at the foot of the bed.

“A vampire,” she said simply.

Y/n just stared at her, trying to process what she’d heard. A vampire? In this era? And they still exist?

Then the memory of the woman from earlier — the one who had chased her — flashed in her mind, and her stomach turned.

Silence filled the room. The air was thick, almost suffocating. Finally, Y/n looked up and spoke, her voice trembling but firm.

“I want to go home.”

At that, Larissa tensed, her back straightening as if the words had struck her.

“You can’t,” she whispered.

But Y/n caught it — and instead of fear, defiance surged through her. She pushed herself off the bed.

“Why not?” she demanded, her voice sharp.

Larissa’s expression twisted, anger and anguish flashing in her eyes. “Not when I’ve just found you! Not when I’ve waited decades for this!”

Her fangs glinted as her lips curled in frustration. The sudden intensity made Y/n stumble back, her breath quickening again.

Realizing the fear in Y/n’s eyes, Larissa drew in a steadying breath, then stepped back toward the door.

Her hand lingered on the handle for a moment—long enough for Y/n to sense the faint click that followed before the silence returned.

Without another word, Larissa turned and disappeared down the hall, leaving Y/n frozen where she stood.

When Y/n heard the metallic click from the door, panic rushed through her.

She scrambled toward it, tugging hard at the handle, trying to pry it open — but it wouldn’t budge. It was locked from the outside.

Her breath hitched as she turned toward the window, fumbling with the latch, only to find it sealed tight. No escape.

Her eyes darted around the room in growing desperation, searching for another way out, but there was none. The reality sank in heavy and cold.

With trembling hands, she slid down to the floor, the weight of fear pressing down on her chest. And there, beneath the dim glow of the room, Y/n buried her face in her hands and wept quietly, the sound of her sobs swallowed by the silence.

✩₊˚.⋆☾𓃠☽⋆⁺₊✧

It was nearing morning, yet Alcina’s thirst hadn’t faded. If anything, it burned deeper.

Y/n’s scent lingered in the air — warm, fragile, and sweet with fear. That fear alone was enough to make Alcina’s hunger sharpen, her fangs ache.

Larissa’s warnings echoed faintly in her mind, but Alcina only smiled to herself. Let her warn. Larissa wasn’t here now, and no one was going to stop her. She was Alcina Dimitrescu, after all — she had never bowed to anyone’s command, and she wasn’t about to start now.

She approached the door, fingers gliding over the handle before quietly turning it. The soft click of the lock releasing was followed by a creak as the door eased open.

The scent hit her immediately — rich, intoxicating, utterly human.

There, on the floor, lay the girl. Exhausted, facing away, her breathing slow and uneven, tearstains still glistening faintly on her cheeks.

A slow smile curved Alcina’s lips as she stepped closer, her movements silent, deliberate — predatory.

Before indulging her hunger, she wanted to see the face of her victim, to savor the sight before the taste.

When she carefully turned the body to face her, Alcina froze.

For a moment, she couldn’t breathe. Now that she was this close—close enough to see the outline of Y/n’s face in the faint light—something inside her twisted violently. Horror flickered across her expression.

She took a step back, her composure cracking. Fury, fear, disbelief, guilt—they all surged within her at once, a storm she couldn’t name.

And before she even realized it, for the first time since she’d been turned, her eyes shimmered—not with hunger, but with something painfully human.

She couldn’t believe what she was seeing.

Before she could even think further, Alcina stormed out of the room, the door slamming shut behind her with a sharp bang that echoed through the halls—startling the sleeping figure awake.

While Alcina went to find Larissa, Y/n blinked in confusion, her heart racing once more. Slowly, she pushed herself up and glanced toward the door.

Her trembling hand reached for the handle, and when she turned it, a faint creak followed. It was open.

A sigh of relief escaped her lips—but she didn’t waste time celebrating.

If she was going to escape, it had to be now—before Larissa came back.

She quietly slipped out, careful not to make any sound. She knows better than to underestimate a vampire’s hearing—every step, every breath, could give her away.

The hallway felt endless, the flickering light from the candles casting long, eerie shadows on the walls. Her heart pounds so loud she’s afraid it will betray her. She passed by the parlor, and that’s when she heard it—voices.

She froze.

One was Larissa’s, furious and sharp, echoing through the silence like a blade. The other voice—colder, calmer, but heavy with power—belonged to someone she didn’t know. The sound of it made her skin crawl.

Y/n didn’t stay long to listen. She stepped back slowly, eyes darting around for a way out, until she saw it—the door.

Without wasting a second, she made her move. Her hands trembled as she reached for the handle, afraid it might not open. But then—

a click, a soft creak—

and the door gave way.

Cold air hit her face the moment she stepped outside. She didn’t think, didn’t hesitate. She ran.

Through the night, through the thick air that burned in her lungs, she ran without looking back.

✩₊˚.⋆☾𓃠☽⋆⁺₊✧

"Don't twist it, Alcina! It’s the fact that you went near her when I told you not to!" Larissa’s voice thundered through the corridor, sharp and furious.

"You don’t want me near her because you don’t want me to see her, is that it, Larissa?" Alcina’s voice was calm, but her eyes betrayed her fury—glinting gold, wild, trembling with rage barely held back.

"Tell me—when did you know?"

Larissa’s jaw tightened. “Know what, Alcina?” Her patience was hanging by a thread; she’s done with Alcina’s riddles and accusations.

Alcina’s lips curled, her voice breaking through with venom.

"That the woman you’ve been stalking—the one you locked in that room—she’s her! The woman I lost! The one I once cherished in this miserable existence!"

Both women faced each other, fury radiating between them like fire and oil.

Their fangs bared, nails sharpened to claws that could tear through flesh—or each other.

Larissa’s disbelief flickered, her voice low but cutting,

"She. is. my. wife."

Each word struck like a blade, quiet but deadly.

Alcina’s expression twisted, rage overtaking reason.

"You liar!" she snarled, lunging forward, her claws slicing through the air.

Larissa didn’t flinch. She moved back, graceful but firm, dodging every strike.

The air around them thickened with power and hatred—the clash of two creatures who had already lost too much to lose again.

They were on each other’s throats, a blur of fury and motion—nails clashing, fangs bared, breath sharp with rage. Until something small and metallic broke the tension with a faint clink.

The locket that hung around Larissa’s neck had been torn loose, crashing to the floor.

In her blind rage, Alcina didn’t notice—her heel came down hard, crushing it.

The sound of metal breaking echoed louder than their snarls.

Larissa froze, her fury vanishing in an instant as she dropped to her knees.

“No!” her voice cracked, trembling as her hands gathered the shattered pieces.

“This… this is the only memory I have of her.” Her voice broke into a sob that tore through the silence.

Alcina stopped, her anger faltering. The sight of Larissa clutching the broken locket—the grief on her face—pulled her back to herself.

She watched as Larissa carefully opened the dented frame, pulling out a tiny, worn photograph.

Alcina stepped closer, her chest tightening.

In the dim light, she saw the face in the picture—so familiar it made her breath hitch.

Different clothes.

A different time.

But the same eyes. The same smile.

It was her.

Alcina staggered a step back, confusion clouding her fury.

“What… how…?” she whispered, her voice barely audible.

Alcina’s gaze drifted—then stilled—on one of the paintings hanging in the room.

Something deep within her stirred.

With careful, almost trembling steps, she approached it. Her fingers brushed the frame as she lifted it from the wall. Slowly, she turned it around—revealing another canvas hidden beneath.

A woman. Graceful as ever. Sitting elegantly on a chair, her gaze turned toward the painter—toward Alcina herself.

It had been a hundred years since she last looked upon that face.

A hundred years since that dreadful night she chose to turn away from it—literally and painfully—hiding the painting from sight.

Larissa looked up, her breath catching as she quickly rose to her feet. She moved closer, eyes wide, disbelieving.

“B-but… how?” she whispered, voice shaking. “What is this…?”

Her trembling hand lifted the photograph she still held—then she looked from it to the painting.

Same face.

Same eyes.

Same woman.

"I’ve been hoping and waiting..." Alcina was the first to break the silence. Her voice was steady, but sorrow threaded through every word. "And she was reborn—only not to return to me, but to you." Her gaze lingered on Larissa, sharp and wounded.

"That doesn’t mean she has to be yours," Larissa murmured quietly, though her tone carried its own ache.

"She was mine first!" Alcina snapped, the restraint in her voice finally shattering. "I waited like a fool, clinging to that witch’s promise—that love would return, that time would be merciful!" Her laugh was low and bitter. "A century I waited, Larissa. A century wasted… when it could’ve only been decades before she returned—only, it wasn’t me she came back to."

Her voice broke, the weight of a hundred years falling with it. For the first time in ages, Alcina Dimitrescu looked human.

"Are you blaming me for your misfortune?" Larissa’s voice was low, steady, but her eyes held a flicker of pain. "Just like you, Alcina... I only loved."

"Then there is nothing I can do," Alcina said, her voice firm with renewed resolve. "But to speak to her myself—and tell her everything."

"You can’t just barge in there! She’s terrified enough as it is," Larissa countered, stepping in her way.

"And you wouldn’t?" Alcina arched a brow, mocking.

"Now, when you just chased her through the forest to drain her dry?" Larissa shot back, her tone cold and cutting.

"It doesn’t matter," Alcina hissed. "She has to know. Now."

With long, determined strides, Alcina swept out of the parlor, heading straight for the room where she knew Y/n was fast asleep.

But when she arrived, she froze—the door was ajar. Pushing it open, she was met with nothing but emptiness.

Larissa appeared behind her moments later, letting out a breath that sounded halfway between relief and disappointment.

With a heavy sigh, Alcina stood there, staring at the empty room and the open window beyond.

Larissa approached quietly, coming to stand beside her, head held high though her eyes betrayed the weight she carried.

Neither spoke. They simply let the silence stretch, the night dragging on around them.

In a wordless understanding, they allowed Y/n to slip from their grasp—just this night.

Both women loved the same soul.

And yet, deep within their dead, unbeating hearts, neither had any intention of truly letting her go.

The night dragged on that way—two figures in silence, sitting across from each other in the dim parlor. The fire had long died, the air heavy with smoke and regret. Neither spoke, neither moved. Only the soft ticking of an old clock filled the hollow space between them.

It was Larissa who broke the stillness first, her voice barely above a whisper.

“You shouldn’t have opened that door.”

Alcina gave a low, tired laugh. It was elegant, but hollow—like crystal cracking.

“And deny myself the chance to see her with my own eyes? Don’t be absurd, Larissa.”

That silenced them both again.

The first threads of dawn began to slip through the curtains, pale and cold. Alcina turned, her golden eyes dimmed yet unyielding.

“We both lost her once,” she said, voice low and deliberate. “I do not intend to lose her again.”

Larissa’s gaze lowered. She turned the broken locket in her hand, fingers tracing the fractured glass where the photograph lay.

“You think I want to lose her?” she murmured.

Alcina’s voice softened, but her words struck sharp.

“You already did.”

Larissa’s head lifted, meeting Alcina’s gaze—there was no fury there, only an ache centuries deep.

“Cruel, even for you.”

Alcina stepped closer, her presence commanding even now, though fatigue laced her tone.

“We are not enemies, Larissa. Not this time. You love her. I love her. The difference is…” She leaned in, voice dropping to a velvet whisper. “I will not hesitate to take what I desire.”

Larissa’s lips parted, a faint tremor of emotion cracking her composure.

“And you think I would?”

Alcina’s smile deepened, dangerous and elegant. “No. I think you already have. You always do.”

For a moment, silence stretched—an old, cruel understanding between monsters who had seen the same centuries and bled from the same wound.

Then Alcina tilted her head. “Tell me, do you truly believe she’ll come willingly after what happened tonight?”

The question hung like a blade. Larissa didn’t answer, because the truth was too bitter to voice.

Finally, she rose from her seat, her gaze drifting toward the window where sunlight bled into the gray.

“Then we’ll bring her back,” she said quietly.

Alcina arched a brow. “By force?”

Larissa’s voice steadied. “By any means.”

For the first time that night, Alcina smiled—genuinely. It was cruel, yes, but it was also alive.

“Now that,” she murmured, “is something I can agree with.”

She turned toward the doorway, her tall frame cutting through the dying shadows. “So this is how it will be then? Two immortals, chasing the same fragile heart?”

Larissa’s reply came calm, certain. “If that’s what it takes.”

A soft, rich laugh escaped Alcina—low and velvety, the kind that once made men shiver.

“Then so be it.”

The first light of morning spilled into the room, cruel and golden. They should have hidden, retreated into the comfort of their eternal dark—but neither moved.

Because somewhere out there, in the waking world, was the one thing that still made them feel alive.

As dawn broke, two shadows left the estate—one graceful, one ghostly, both deadly.

They didn’t rush. They didn’t need to. Her scent lingered—fear, salt, and something sweet that neither time nor death could erase.

They would find her.

They always did.

And when they did…

Neither would let go again.

The hospital was as busy as usual. Larissa Weems, glancing through a patient chart as she walked, suddenly got bumped by a young doctor. She looked up to see him hurrying past, muttering under his breath, “Don’t scatter around.” Raising an eyebrow, she huffed and bent down to pick up the chart that had fallen.

Here we are again—new doctors, arriving with the notion that they alone command authority over everyone else.

She rolled her eyes as she walked ahead, her heels clicking against the marble floor, the chart tucked securely in her arms. With steady confidence, she didn’t spare a glance at the new doctor who offered her a smile as if to greet her—she simply ignored the young woman and kept her gaze fixed forward.

The young woman, ready to greet her with a good morning, looked stunned and confused for a moment. She followed the tall nurse with her eyes before finally shrugging her shoulders and continuing on her way to check a patient who was suffering from a rash and fever.

Arriving at the room, she was greeted by a panicked mother, clearly frightened, who immediately asked if her son’s illness was contagious. 

She smiles softly at the mother and asks her to step aside so she can examine her son. With a calm, reassuring tone, she tells her, “We’ll figure this out,” before moving to the bedside and adding with kindness, “Well then, let’s take a look.”

“So, Liam, I’m going to ask you a few questions while I examine you, alright?” Liam gave a weak nod. She studied the rash carefully, checked his vitals, and asked a steady stream of questions—about food, pets, laundry detergent, and recent outings. Each answer led nowhere, nothing standing out. Then she paused, her brow furrowing slightly as she caught a faint scent lingering on his shirt.

She looks at the mother and asks, “Did you start using anything new at home? Maybe a lotion or... something?”

The mother blinks thinking, then she gasps.

“His grandmother gave him tea last night. Said it would help him sleep. It had... I think chamomile and something else.”

Y/N pursed her lips before giving a brief nod. “Some herbal remedies can cause allergic reactions, especially in children. We’ll treat the symptoms and run an allergy panel to confirm.” 

﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌

Exhaling as she rubbed her nape, she had just finished dealing with a stubborn businessman who kept insisting he was fine, just tired. But she had noticed subtle signs, and after a minute of arguing with him—and with the nurses supporting her—he finally complied, only to reveal he had already suffered a mild heart attack.

Then she recalled the patient from earlier—Liam. He turned out to be fine and was now resting, nothing that a bit of medicine couldn’t handle. His mother was deeply grateful to her and kept repeating how thankful she was.

It made her smile how much the mother cared for her child. 

It was still early, and her rounds were far from over. Next, she would visit an elderly patient suffering from dementia. The woman’s longtime doctor had already retired, leaving the responsibility in her hands. He had once been her instructor during medical school, a mentor who believed in her deeply. She still remembered his words—that she could be trusted with patients like this, the fragile and the vulnerable. And so, with quiet determination, she carried that trust with her as she approached the old woman’s room.

Upon opening the door, she was met with the soft rustle of stems and petals. A nurse stood with her back to her, carefully arranging fresh flowers in a glass vase on the windowsill, the morning light catching the blooms and filling the room with a quiet, comforting warmth. 

She knocked quietly before announcing her presence, the old woman looked up at her with a gentle eyes and a smile that instantly melted her heart, then the nurse turned, whose smiles instantly vanished upon seeing her. It changed to a more collected one and professionalism. 

She gave the nurse a brief nod—recognizing her as the same woman who had ignored her earlier. From the look on her face now, it was clear the woman was not particularly fond of her. So, she masked her own expression with professionalism, steadying herself even as her chest tightened, threatening to burst with nerves.

She felt as though the nurse was underestimating her, but she was used to that. If the nurse disliked her, she could care less—she had nothing to prove to her anyway.

She turned to the old lady and approached her with a soft smile. “Good morning, Mrs. Harper.”

“Oh, please, dear—Mrs. Harper makes me sound ancient. Dorothy will do… or better yet, call me Dottie,” the woman said with a twinkle in her eye, her voice warm and light.

She let out a light laugh, her eyes crinkling with warmth as she began introducing herself as the new doctor who would be caring for her from now on. Her tone carried an easy confidence, gentle yet reassuring, as though wanting to put the old woman at ease. From the side, Weems observed in silence, taking in the exchange with her usual composed stillness.

“Ah, yes—you’re the one Dr. Johnson was telling me about,” she said with a knowing smile, her eyes soft with recognition.

“Well, I hope it was all good,” she said with a chuckle.

“All praises, dear… all praises,” she said with a mischievous little grin, her tone light and teasing.

Weems arched a perfectly shaped brow at the exchange, the corner of her lips twitching as though suppressing a smile. She remained silent, but her keen eyes lingered on the scene, amused despite herself.

Y/N then turned to the nurse, offering a polite smile. “You’re Ms. Weems, right? Also  the one taking care of Dottie.” She glanced at the woman in bed and gave a playful wink.

Larissa gave her a measured, steady look before speaking. “That is correct. I worked alongside Dr. Johnson in caring for Dottie, and now that he’s no longer here, I hope you’ll trust my insights about her condition. I know you are the doctor, but I’ve been looking after her for a long time and understand her needs well.”

She blinked at that, then let out a small, genuine smile. “I trust you, Ms. Weems,” she said, her voice carrying both respect and a sense of relief.

Silence settled after that, and Y/N began to understand why Larissa had been so uptight with her. She had heard the complaints—about new doctors acting overly authoritative, treating nurses as if they were beneath them, as though being a doctor placed them above everyone else. But Y/N wasn’t like that. She saw everyone as equals, all part of the same team. As someone new to the hospital, she trusted the nurses who had been there a long time and treated them with the respect they deserved.

Larissa regarded her carefully. She hadn’t meant to come across that way—she was simply fed up with other doctors. She had never seen Y/N act arrogantly; in fact, she had approached her politely earlier, and Larissa had ignored her. Now, standing before Y/N, she could clearly see that the new doctor was cooperative and not bossy. A twinge of guilt struck her, and she decided that she would trust this doctor and behave properly around her.

A clearing of the throat jolted them both out of their thoughts. They turned to see the source of the sound, arms crossed and eyebrows raised. “Well, I hope you two are done with your staring contest,” the Dottie said, dryly, as if commenting on a very slow sport.

They both glanced at each other awkwardly. Larissa was the first to compose herself, straightening her back, while Y/N scratched her head and bit her bottom lip. 

That was their start, Y/N gaining Larissa’s respect and proving more of herself.

On some tasks, Larissa worked alongside Y/N, assisting her, and she couldn’t help but notice how dedicated the young doctor was—how careful, attentive, and gentle she was with every patient. Whenever Larissa faced a difficult patient, Y/N would step in without hesitation, handling the situation smoothly. Each time, Larissa felt a quiet gratitude well up inside her, realizing that this young doctor wasn’t just capable—she could be trusted. Slowly, she found herself respecting Y/N more with every task they shared.

﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌

Y/N was in her office with another doctor, talking and laughing about random things. She didn’t realize it at first, but they just instantly clicked. This doctor, though slightly older—perhaps around the same age as Larissa—felt surprisingly easy to connect with. For the first time since arriving at the hospital  Y/N realized she had made a friend here.

Although she wanted to consider Larissa a friend, she couldn’t—because the way Larissa acted around her was… different, guarded, and hard to read. 

After the laugh, Dr. Avis placed her hand on Y/N’s arm and rubbed it gently, looking at her with a smile that teetered on the edge of being seductive. Y/N shook off the thought, assuming she was just being playful. Before Avis could speak, there was a knock, and the door opened.

Larissa walked in and paused when she saw Avis. Her eyes immediately went to the hand resting on Y/N’s arm, and she shot a sharp glance at Avis before turning her gaze to Y/N.

“I hope I’m not interrupting anything,” she said, her tone polite, though there was a hint of indifference in the way she said it. 

Y/N smiled warmly at Larissa before shaking her head. “No, you’re not.” As she spoke, she gently removed her hand from Avis and placed it in her lap.

“Then I’ll leave you two alone,” Avis said, standing up and straightening her coat. She bid Y/N goodbye and gave Larissa a smirk as she passed by. Larissa’s lips pressed into a thin line for a brief moment, her sharp eyes following Avis before she finally looked back at Y/N, unreadable as ever.

Y/N swallowed thickly. She didn’t know why, but she felt nervous at the look Larissa was giving her. She wondered if it was something she had done that made Larissa look at her that way.

“I see that the two of you are… close,” Larissa began.

“Ah—well, yes… we’re friends, I guess… kind of.”

Larissa raised her eyebrow.

Y/N couldn’t take her eyes off Larissa. She was tall, with a poised, commanding stature that made her presence impossible to ignore. Her shoulders were strong yet graceful, her movements precise, each gesture deliberate and confident. The blonde hair framing her face caught the light, soft and almost luminous, and her eyes—sharp, calculating, yet strangely warm—held Y/N in their gaze. Her lips, perfectly shaped and painted just so, curved ever so slightly as she spoke. Every detail, every movement, felt effortlessly elegant, and Y/N realized with a quiet, startled awareness that she was not just admiring her as a colleague… she was captivated. Deep down, she already felt something far more personal stirring, a pull she wasn’t ready to name.

“Earth to Y/N. Focus,” Larissa said, her voice crisp and unwavering. Y/N snapped out of her daze, realizing too late that Larissa had moved closer—her face now just inches away. 

Her breath hitched quietly, and she hoped Larissa hadn’t noticed. But of course she had. Larissa moved her face slightly away and straightened up

“Yeah– yes I'm sorry, what is it you are saying?”

Larissa fell quiet for a moment, her sharp gaze scanning the room as if buying herself time. Then, with her posture straight and voice steady but just a fraction softer than usual, she asked, “I was hoping you could join later, after your shift, for a drink.”

She thought for a moment. She knows she will stay a little extra time, as there are some files that need to be sorted out, so she asked where the location of the place was and  that she would join her as soon as she’s done with what needs to be done.

﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌

After she finished everything, she immediately went to the place Larissa had mentioned. When Larissa had asked her for a drink, she felt a giddy flutter inside, and she had been looking forward to it ever since. That’s why she had rushed to finish what she was doing. 

She was happy that Larissa had finally invited her—not just for lunch inside the hospital, but for a drink away from work.

When she arrived she placed her white coat at the passenger seat of her car before stepping out of her vehicle. 

When she stepped inside, the staff greeted her and guided her to where her companion was. The place felt like somewhere a person like Larissa would choose—warm, inviting, with soft lighting that bathed the room in a golden glow. Jazz music played gently in the background, relaxing and soothing. She could see people swaying to the music or sipping their wine, quietly absorbing the comfort of the atmosphere. 

But as she approached where Larissa was, her excitement faded slightly. In the lounge, it wasn’t just Larissa—there were a few of their colleagues as well. Larissa was talking and laughing, clearly enjoying herself with one of their other new co-workers. 

Then, some of her colleagues spotted her and immediately called her over. When Larissa heard Y/N’s name, she looked up, and their eyes met briefly. Y/N felt her heart skip, a mix of nervousness and anticipation stirring inside her, before one of the colleagues took her hand and guided her to sit with the rest.

“I’m glad you came! I asked Larissa to invite you over because we do this for new people at work—well, not everyone gets invited, you know,” one of them said. Y/N remembered the woman well—bubbly, lively, and always ready to enjoy herself.

She looked up at Larissa, and their eyes met again. Surprisingly, Larissa gave her a soft smile before averting her gaze to listen to the girl beside her.

The people around her continued talking to each other. She sighed, realizing it wouldn’t be just her and Larissa—her hope had been foolish. She shook her head. No, never mind that. They weren’t even friends… Well, at least in her mind they were. So why had she thought Larissa—? She cut herself off again, unable to make sense of what she was feeling.

But when she looked up again, she couldn’t help but question why Larissa was so open with them and not with her. The girl she was talking to was also new, yet the way Larissa smiled and laughed with her… she had never done that around Y/N. She didn’t understand. They were practically around each other all the time at work, and yet… and yet.

“Well, hello, ladies,” a voice called from behind. 

She turned around and saw Avis, who had rounded the corner and immediately taken the empty space beside her. Y/N gave her a quiet, “Hi.”

“Hey, is something wrong?” Avis asked, taking Y/N’s hand in hers. Y/N felt her heart skip a beat, a warmth spreading through her chest as she looked down at their joined hands, unsure how to respond but unable to pull away. Across the room, Larissa’s sharp gaze lingered for just a moment on them before she turned her attention back to her conversation, leaving Y/N’s mind spinning. 

“I think you need some wine,” she laughed, calling over someone. “Another bottle for our doctor here!” 

Y/N just let her, she indeed needs wine in her throat. 

﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌

A few bottles later, she was already giggling at Avis’s story, completely forgetting about Larissa. She hadn’t meant to get drunk like this—she knew her limits—but her eyes kept drifting toward Larissa, and Avis kept encouraging her to drink more.

A few of their co-workers bid their goodbyes, leaving only five people in the lounge.

Larissa sat quietly, sipping her drink, while the girl she had been talking to was already engaged in a conversation with her friend—until they, too, bid their goodbyes.

Another giggle caught Larissa attention. She looked up to see two people leaning close to each other, whispering about something funny.

She decides to approach them as clearly, Y/N is drunk. 

“I think that’s enough for a drink for tonight wouldn’t you agree?” she turned to y/n and raised her perfect eyebrow. 

The two quieted down from their giggling and glanced up at Larissa. “Hmm…?” Y/N blinked a few times.

She glanced down at her wristwatch, realizing how late it had gotten. A quiet sigh left her lips—morning rounds awaited her at the hospital. With that in mind, she began to gather her things, movements a little slower from the wine still in her system.

“Well, I will go ahead then.” Y/N said, a hiccup escaping as she tried to steady herself. Her cheeks were warm, flushed from the wine.

Larissa’s gaze lingered on her, sharp blue eyes softening as silence stretched between them. She didn’t move at first, only watching as though contemplating something—whether to let her stumble out into the night on her own, or to step in.

“I’ll go with you too,” Avis chimed in, already on her feet.

Larissa moved almost at once, stepping between them with quiet elegance. She placed her glass down with controlled precision before letting her tall frame command the space.

“I don’t think either of you should be driving in this state,” she remarked, her tone smooth and measured, though her eyes flickered toward Y/N with a lingering softness. “Allow me to take you home. I would much rather see you both safe than risk anything otherwise.”

“I didn’t drink much, really,” Avis said, her tone carrying a practiced ease as she straightened her coat. “I’m perfectly capable of driving us home safely.” She stepped in front of Y/N with a polished smile, as if her words left no room for argument.

Larissa’s eyes, which had been resting on Y/N, shifted slowly to Avis. A faint, controlled frown touched her features—barely there, but sharp enough to betray her displeasure. Why was this woman so insistent?

“I’m sure you believe that, Dr. Avis,” Larissa replied smoothly, a faint arch to her brow. “But I’ve only had a glass myself, so allow me—it would put my mind at ease.”

Y/N, who had been quietly watching the tension build between the two, finally decided to step in.

“Excuse me,” she said gently, her voice steady despite the slight flush in her cheeks. “If both of you can drive, then you can drive yourselves home. Thank you for the offer, though—I’ll just call a ride.”

She offered them both a polite smile before gathering her things and making her way toward the exit, doing her best to walk in a straight line.

Both women stood momentarily stunned, watching Y/N walk away. Larissa’s expression softened, though her jaw tightened ever so slightly. She cast Avis one last pointed look before turning on her heel and following after Y/N.

When Larissa stepped outside, she saw Y/N standing at the corner, arms wrapped around herself as she waited.

She started to walk toward Y/N, her heels clicking softly against the pavement. As she drew closer, her steps slowed, almost hesitant, until she finally came to stand beside the younger woman. Y/N looked up at her then, their eyes meeting under the muted glow of the streetlight.

“My offer still stands if you’d like.” larissa said as she shifted her gaze forward.

Shooking her head no and murmuring, “I already booked a ride.” then looks down at her feet.

Silence settled in before Larissa could stop herself.

“It may just be my perception, but lately you’ve been… keeping me at a distance. If it’s something I’ve done, I think it is best we speak openly about it.”

Y/N rapidly blinked at the words, her head snapping up from the ground to meet Larissa’s blue gaze. The sudden intensity made her dizzy.

She frowned, confusion and frustration mixing as she blurted, “Me? Ironic—because you’re the one keeping me at arm’s length.” The alcohol in her blood loosened her tongue, each word sharper than she’d intended.

“Excuse me, but ever since I started working at the hospital you’ve been stiff as a board around me. I don’t know what I did to make you treat me that way. But when you’re with anyone else—you’re laughing, open, warm.” Her voice faltered as her thoughts spilled out faster than she could catch them. “Don’t tell me it’s because you’ve known them for years, because what about the girl tonight? She’s new too, and you seemed to get along just fine. And when it comes to me…”

Her voice trailed off, fading into a quiet pout as her gaze dropped again, shoulders curled in on themselves. The alcohol stripped away her usual restraint, leaving her raw, unfiltered, and more vulnerable than she meant to be.

Larissa opened her mouth, the words ready, perched precariously on the tip of her tongue. She wanted to explain—to tell Y/N that her distance wasn’t coldness, but self-preservation. That professionalism had been her shield, because to lower it would mean admitting just how much this young doctor had unsettled her carefully built composure.

But before she could speak, headlights swept the curb. Y/N’s ride pulled up, and she moved so quickly—so eager to escape—that Larissa’s heart gave a little twist. She only managed, “Y/N—” but the door was already closing.

And then she was gone.

Larissa stood there, spine straight as ever, but inside she felt the ache of all the words unsaid. She had wanted to tell her that she wasn’t indifferent, that it was quite the opposite. That her distance was a fragile attempt to keep her feelings from spilling over. But now, Y/N thought her cold, dismissive—arms length.

Larissa’s fingers curled at her side as she watched the car disappear.

﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌

Doing her rounds, Y/N could only sigh, the memories of last night replaying far too clearly in her mind. The way she had blurted out everything—the frustration, the comparisons, the accusations—it made her cringe so badly she had to pause in the hallway, pressing her lips together. It had been unprofessional, completely out of line.

She hadn’t meant to corner Larissa like that, nor to demand a place in her life beyond what was given. It wasn’t her right. Still, the alcohol had loosened her restraint, and now guilt sat heavy in her chest.

She decided then, the moment she saw Larissa today, she would apologize. Even if it meant swallowing her pride, even if it meant hearing that she had overstepped.

As if fate had heard her, Y/N spotted Larissa at the far end of the corridor. Her heart gave a nervous jolt, but she forced herself to straighten her shoulders, reminding herself of her resolve.

When they drew closer, Y/N stopped just a few steps away and, with a careful tone, asked,

“Larissa? Can I talk to you?”

Larissa paused, looking surprised that Y/N would want to talk to her, as she thought the woman was clearly upset with her.

“Considering it’s lunchtime, would you join me?” Larissa said, and Y/N nodded as both women began to walk together.

Y/N clasped her hands together, her voice low but steady. “About last night… I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said those things. It was unprofessional, and I regret pressing myself into your personal life.”

Larissa looked at her for a long moment. The apology was unexpected—almost disarming. She blames herself… when it was I who built the wall. For a fleeting second, Larissa’s resolve wavered. She could tell her now. She could explain that the distance wasn’t coldness, but fear of letting something far more dangerous slip through. That she was not blind to Y/N, nor indifferent.

Her fingers twitched faintly against her cup, as if they wanted to reach across the table—but she stilled them.

“I should apologize as well,” Larissa said at last, her voice calm, measured. “I may have given the impression of being… too formal with you. It was never my intention to make you feel excluded. In truth, it was only my effort to maintain professionalism. Nothing more.”

She held Y/N’s gaze for a moment, eyes softer now, betraying a warmth she couldn’t fully hide, before lowering them back to her cup—disguising the words she dared not speak.

Y/N nodded quietly, lips pressed together as if holding back more she wanted to say, her faint smile betraying the ache beneath it.

﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌

The days dragged so fast. Y/n busied herself with patients. Since her talk with Larissa, she was more focused than ever on her work, setting aside what she felt was a childish behavior—a yearning to be close to Larissa in the same way others seemed to be.

Instead, she turned her attention to the people who gave her what she thought she wanted—friendship, acceptance—and that was with Dr. Avis. She told herself she didn’t need to keep reaching where it never seemed welcome, and she certainly didn’t want to push herself the way she used to before.

Larissa told herself it was none of her concern, that Y/n was free to choose her company. And yet, whenever she saw how closely Avis lingered by her side, something unsettled within her. She knew Avis’s nature well enough—charming, persuasive, but never lingering long—and though she would never admit it aloud, not even to herself, the thought of Y/n getting pulled into that left her uneasy. 

Like on so many days before, Y/n caught sight of Larissa leaning at the nurse’s station, laughing easily with the other nurses. Her smile was radiant, lighting up her whole face, and Y/n felt her steps falter. For a fleeting moment, it was as if the world had slowed, her eyes fixed only on Larissa. She hated to admit it—hated even more to feel it—but something inside her was undeniably drawn to the woman. Captivated, despite herself. And when Larissa’s head began to turn, Y/n panicked. She forced herself forward in a rush, pretending to be caught up in urgent work, though there was no patient waiting. In truth, she only wanted to escape, to lock herself away in her office before her feelings betrayed her.

﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌

Larissa hated it. The way Y/n had changed. She spoke to her now the way any doctor would—professional, concise, straight to the point. Larissa knew she was the reason for it, that she had pushed Y/n into this distance, but still… she missed the warmth. She missed the way Y/n used to treat her as a friend, coming to her with questions she likely already knew the answers to, just for the sake of hearing Larissa’s opinion. She missed the easy smiles, the unguarded way she used to look at her, as if Larissa were the one she could rely on most.

Now, Y/n only came to her when it concerned Dottie. And even that had changed. What used to be just the three of them during rounds had somehow turned into four—Avis had decided she belonged there too. It irritated Larissa more than she wanted to admit, because those moments had been the rare times she could really watch Y/n. She could see the tenderness in her voice as she coaxed Dottie to take her medicine, the patience she had when handling her episodes, the depth in her eyes when she listened as if every word mattered. Y/n had a way of seeing people—of understanding them so quickly it was almost disarming.

But then Avis came into view, and all of it felt ruined.

The longer she dwelled on it, the more resolute she became—she would take action. She refused to let history repeat itself, to stand by while those she cared for slipped away simply because she was too afraid to face her own desire. No… not again. And this time, she would not deny it any longer: she likes Y/n L/n.

﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌

She got her opportunity when, in Dottie’s room, it was just the two of them—no Avis in sight, as she was busy elsewhere.

After the quick check-up with Dottie, Larissa decided to approach Y/N.

“Dr. Y/N?”

Looking up in confusion, Y/N asked, “Ah, what is it, Ms. Weems?”

Larissa winced. She hated hearing her last name from Y/N’s lips. But that could change later. For now, she had to ask this question.

“I was wondering,” Larissa began, her tone smooth and deliberate, “if you might join me for dinner this evening.” She held Y/N’s gaze, waiting patiently for her answer.

Y/N looked surprised, though a thought quickly crossed her mind—was this another gathering with colleagues? If it was, she was ready to decline.

Noticing her hesitation, Larissa added, her voice low but assured, “Just the two of us.”

And that made Y/N’s eyes widen as she stared at the woman.

“I am waiting for your answer,” Larissa’s voice nudged her to speak.

With a quick nod, Y/N murmured, “Yes.”

Larissa smiled. “Well then, I’ll see you later.” She started toward the door but paused, glancing back at the younger woman. “And don’t bother with your car—I’ll drive tonight. We wouldn’t want to repeat what happened last time, now would we?” Her tone held the faintest tease before she disappeared through the doorway.

“Hey—!” Y/N began to protest, but Larissa was already gone. Her cheeks burned as she turned back, only to find Dottie smirking from her bed.

“That was delightful to watch, dear. You two clearly like each other, though you keep dancing around it. I may be old and forgetful at times, but I’ve seen the way you look at each other when you think no one notices,” the elderly woman teased with a quiet laugh.

Flustered, Y/N stood frozen before quickly excusing herself from the room.

She wondered what got into larissa to ask her out, she is happy of course at the same time confused. 

﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌

She hurriedly began gathering her things, knowing Larissa was already waiting for her at the parking lot. She paused, because whatever was about to happen tonight, she was going to tell Larissa what she really felt.

The night air was cool against Y/n’s skin as she stepped into the parking lot, clutching her bag a little tighter than necessary. Her eyes swept over the rows of cars until they landed on the familiar figure—Larissa, waiting with effortless grace beside her sleek vehicle.

Larissa looked up at the sound of footsteps, her posture composed, though her eyes softened the moment they found Y/n. There was no rush in her movements, only a quiet patience, as if she had all the time in the world to wait for her.

Y/n’s pulse quickened. It wasn’t just Larissa’s elegance that unsettled her, but the thought of what tonight might bring—the unspoken words pressing at her chest, the confession she had promised herself she’d finally voice.

“Shall we?” Larissa asked when Y/n stopped in front of her. Y/n only managed a nod, her voice caught in her throat as she tried to compose herself.

The drive was quiet, the kind of silence that felt heavier than it should. Larissa kept her eyes on the road, one hand steady on the wheel, the other tapping lightly against it as if to fill the stillness. Every now and then, she risked a glance at Y/n, only to look away just as quickly. Y/n sat with her hands folded in her lap, staring out the window, pretending to be absorbed by the blur of passing lights. Neither of them spoke, both caught up in their own thoughts, though the air between them said plenty. 

Arriving at the place both women stepped out of the car as if in that small place is suffocating for both.

Larissa led them to their table, her movements calm, deliberate, as if she’d rehearsed this evening a thousand times in her mind. She placed the order without hesitation, her voice smooth, leaving Y/n to fidget with the edge of her napkin. When the quiet stretched on again, heavy and expectant, Y/n cleared her throat. Her lips pressed into a thin line before she forced out, “well…” the word soft, almost uncertain, like she was afraid it might shatter the fragile air between them.

Larissa’s gaze met hers; outwardly she remained composed, but inside her thoughts swirled, unsure of where to even begin.

“I… I’m aware there’s been some tension between us, and I’d like to set it right—starting now.”

Y/n parted her lips to respond, but Larissa gently cut in, her voice steady. “No—hear me out first.”

“I realize I may have given you the impression that I am keeping you at a… distance. And in truth, I was. Though not the reason you might believe, you see I always valued professionalism.  I thought that by maintaining distance, I was doing what was best for us—avoiding the risk of crossing the line.”

Her voice softened, a trace of something unguarded slipping through.

“But what I failed to consider is how cold that must have felt to you. And I regret that deeply.”

Y/n’s lips parted, then pressed together again. She looked down at her hands, twisting them in her lap before she finally spoke, her voice quieter than she intended.

“I thought it was just me,” she admitted, her voice low. “That maybe I’d done something wrong… or that you didn’t like me much. So I tried to… match your distance.”

Her eyes flickered up, just long enough to meet Larissa’s before dropping again. “But the truth is… I didn’t want distance. Not from you.” She took a shaky breath, words tumbling out before she could stop them. “Because I… I like you, Larissa. More than I should. And it scared me, so I thought if I pulled back maybe those feelings would go away. But they didn’t.”

“I realize now what I was feeling whenever you laughed with others—it was jealousy. I hated that feeling, you know? Because when it comes to me, you’re always so serious, so hard to crack—”

She stopped short when Larissa suddenly stood.

For a moment, Y/n’s chest tightened, convinced Larissa was about to walk away. But instead, the older woman moved toward her—slow, deliberate—until she was right beside her.

Without another word, Larissa bent down and captured Y/n’s lips with her own.

For a moment, Y/n froze, shock rooting her in place. But then—almost instinctively—she gave in, leaning into the kiss as Larissa’s hand came up to gently cup her face.

When they finally parted, Larissa’s eyes lingered on her. The softness in those striking blue depths made Y/n’s chest tighten, melting her under the weight of that gaze.

“We’d better get out of here, don’t you think?” Larissa suggested as she picked up her bag from the seat. Without hesitation, she reached for Y/n’s wrist, her touch firm yet gentle, guiding her toward the exit and back to the car.

Larissa drove them to her apartment—not to rush into anything, not yet. They had plenty of time for that. For now, she wanted to take it slow, to savor Y/n’s presence, to enjoy the warmth blooming quietly between them.

At the apartment, they continued their dinner, both quickly absorbed in conversation. Y/n felt a wave of relief wash over her; she was here, with Larissa—laughing with her, dining with her, close enough to touch, close enough to admire without pretense.

And when they are done both of them are curled up on a couch.

As the conversation flowed, Larissa suddenly remembered something that had been itching at the back of her mind. She set down her glass and asked, carefully, “What about Avis?”

Y/n blinked, caught off guard. “Hmm? What do you mean?”

“Well…” Larissa’s tone was light, but her eyes betrayed her curiosity. “You two seem… close. I couldn’t help but wonder if Avis might have asked you out.”

The question left Y/n quiet for a beat, and Larissa shifted slightly in her seat, the silence pressing down on her.

Then, with a spark of mischief, Y/n tilted her head. “Well… she confessed—”

Larissa’s gaze immediately hardened, not at Y/n but at the very thought of Avis.

Y/n bit back a smile, letting the tension linger before finally adding, “—but I said no.”

Relief flickered across Larissa’s face, though she tried to mask it with composure. Y/n couldn’t help but grin at that, leaning in a little closer. “Why? Did that bother you, Ms. Weems?” she teased, her voice light but her eyes searching.

Larissa opened her mouth as if to deny it, to brush it off with her usual composure—but the words caught in her throat. For once, the mask faltered.

“Yes,” she admitted at last, a sigh slipping past her lips. “It bothers me, Y/n. Every time I see you with her… the way she hovers, the way you let her linger so close. It’s—” her voice dipped, soft but unsteady, “—it’s unbearable.”

Y/n’s expression softened, all hints of teasing gone. She reached across the table, her hand brushing over Larissa’s as if coaxing her out of hiding. 

“Larissa… you don’t have to worry about Avis,” Y/n said gently, her voice steady. “She’s just a friend. The truth is, the only person I want is sitting right in front of me.”

For a moment, Larissa just stared, the tension in her shoulders slowly easing as if a weight had been lifted. A soft exhale escaped her, and the hard guard in her eyes melted into something tender.

The next morning at the hospital, whenever their paths crossed in the hallway, both women would glance quickly to each end, making sure no one was in sight. And when the coast was clear, Larissa and Y/n would close the distance, wrapped in a deep, lingering kiss, whispering soft promises meant only for each other.

Larissa’s strict belief in professionalism at work crumbled whenever she saw Y/n—she simply couldn’t help herself. The same went for Y/n, who secretly basked in every ounce of attention Larissa gave her. Around others, they acted as if nothing had happened, all polite smiles and calm tones. But behind closed doors, or in a hallway when no one was watching, they stole kisses like teenagers daring fate.

Sighing, after reading the email Mr. Williams sent me. As one of the senior executives, I am to meet Xavier Gruber to discuss further the proposals he makes—if ever, it will help our company to grow more into something. But over the years that he has done business with us, investing large amounts of money for the company’s growth, he irritates me the most. His constant hitting on me won’t stop.

That’s why I am here, sitting in my office chair, staring blankly at my laptop screen. Just the thought of him makes me want to quit—no, no, I won't do that, of course. The hardships I endured for this position, I would never quit for no men.

Letting out another heavy sigh, I picked up my phone to call my secretary.

“Yes, Ms. L/N. What can I do for you today?”

Alice’s voice broke through my daze, catching me off guard.

“Oh, right… Clear my schedule for the next few weeks. I’ll be in Sydney meeting someone important. And Alice, how many times do I have to tell you? Just call me by my name.”

“Got it—schedule cleared for the next few weeks. And fine, fine… I’ll try to stop calling you ‘Ms. L/N,’ but don’t blame me if I slip. It just sounds so official!” She laughs.

Rolling my eyes with a smirk, “Yeah, yeah—just get it done. I want to enjoy a bit of me-time in Sydney before facing Xavier.”

After ending the call, I slowly began gathering my things, the weight of the day still lingering on my shoulders. It was time to head home and start packing for tomorrow’s trip. Sydney awaited—and with it, a long ride and everything that came after.

｡ﾟ•┈꒰ა ♡ ໒꒱┈•  ｡ﾟ

After three hours of driving, I was only about an hour away from the hotel where I’d be staying. My throat felt dry—a clear sign I needed caffeine in my system. So, I decided to make a quick stop at the nearest coffee shop. 

As I stepped out and inhaled the fresh air, my joints cracked from being in the same position for too long. I let out a deep sigh of relief. It felt like freedom.

No annoying coworkers, no noise, no incompetent person to mess up my life—this is what I call a life. Well even if it will only last for a few weeks, I will sure to savor every minute of it.

Just as I was lost in the fantasy of my perfect life, I stepped into the coffee shop—and, of course, someone slammed right into me. Not only that, they were holding a hot drink that went straight onto my blouse.

It didn’t burn, thankfully, but it still stung—and so did my mood.

I closed my eyes and started counting.

This is not how I wanted my day here to start—this is not what I had planned.

“Oh—oh my God! I'm so sorry!”

That high-pitched voice made me open my eyes to see the person who had spilled their drink on me. A constable. “Here, let me help,” she said, starting to dab at my blouse with a tissue, apologizing over and over.

As if that flimsy piece of paper could undo the damage to my shirt.

“Stop. Stop it.” I firmly said. And thankfully she stops. 

“I’m really, so sorry. I was in a rush and didn’t see anyone coming—you know what, I—I’ll order you something. It’s on me. And for the shirt, I have an extra in my car, I—”

She started to ramble, and it was beginning to annoy me.

I could tell she was genuinely sorry, but none of it mattered at the moment—my mood was already ruined.

I simply raised my hand to make her stop.

“No.” That's all I said and shook my head. 

But before she could speak again, a voice sounded behind me.

“What’s taking you so long, Hilmarson?”

She looked past me, and I turned as well to see who it was. Ah. Another one. I rolled my eyes.

The woman glanced at me, then at my ruined shirt, and finally back to the one I now knew as Hilmarson.

Tilting her head and crossing her arms impatiently, she said, “Fix this and get to the car immediately. There’s a lead call.”

And just like that, she turned and walked away.

I heard the woman beside me rustling through something. When I looked, she was holding out some cash.

“Here—for the coffee and the shirt. I really need to get going. Again, I’m so sorry. Please accept this.”

She placed the bill into my hand, and before I could even protest, she turned and walked away—her long legs quickly carrying her out of sight.

I scoffed and glared at the bill, as if it had personally offended me.

Well, it did offend me! 

I crumpled it and shoved it into my pocket. I wouldn’t throw it away—something told me we’d meet again, and when we did, I’d throw her money right back at her.

Abandoning the thought of sipping a hot coffee, I stomped my feet and strode out of the establishment.

｡ﾟ•┈꒰ა ♡ ໒꒱┈•  ｡ﾟ

Back at the headquarters

The conference room is dimly lit, the only source of light coming from a large screen glowing with maps, photographs, and encrypted messages. Adrian stands at the head of the room, remote in hand, as he discusses the case.

Adrian pressed the remote, and a photo of a man appeared on the screen.

“This man—international fraud, shell companies, fake wine exports. He’s slippery, but we’ve got a lead. He’s flying in for a private meeting at the Grand Cellar Lounge.”

He paused before continuing. “He’s sleek. We’ve been monitoring his actions for a while, but he knows he’s being watched. Now that he’s this close, this is our chance to capture him.”

“We intercepted a message from his secure channel,” Robin said, arms crossed.

“He’s meeting someone—supposedly Benjamin Williams, CEO of Oakspire Wine Company. He’s been doing business with him for years.”

“Do you think Williams knows who he’s really dealing with?” Adrian asked, glancing at the screen. “Or is he involved too?”

Before Robin could respond, Miranda beat her to it—she had been quietly taking notes and scanning through intercepted emails the entire time.

“Y/N L/N,” 

Both Robin and Adrian looked at her.

“What?” Robin asked, slightly annoyed at being interrupted.

Startled, Miranda looked up from the screen in front of her to find both Robin and Adrian staring at her expectantly.

“Wh—oh. He’s meeting Y/N L/N, one of Oakspire’s executives. Right here at the Grand Cellar Lounge.” Miranda glanced up at them, her eyes wide and almost doe-like as she said it with a surprising hint of softness—just enough to stand out, but not out of place.

There was a pause before Robin looked up at Adrian, her expression unreadable, voice flat.

“And to answer your question earlier, I don’t think they know his line of work. He has multiple shell companies that can cover everything… but there is still a possibility. We don’t know.”

She leaned back slightly, arms still crossed, as if already moving on in her mind.

“Then find this Y/N and question her. She might help us dig deeper into this man—and finally get him behind bars.” 

“There’s not much on Y/N online—just her name and position listed on the company’s site,” Miranda said, typing away on her laptop. “She must really value her privacy.”

“Hmm. If she’s not online, then try other routes—company records, travel logs, maybe CCTV near Oakspire headquarters. Whatever you can pull. Just make sure we find her before that meeting.”

Adrian said as he turned off the big screen and switched on the lights.

Miranda and Robin were the only ones left in the room.

“Let’s get this over with,” Robin said as she stood up, and Miranda followed.

The two women walked out, already discussing how to track down Y/N.

｡ﾟ•┈꒰ა ♡ ໒꒱┈•  ｡ﾟ

After settling into the hotel suite and making sure everything met my standards for comfort, I called Alice to remind her—no disturbances unless it’s about the meeting with Xavier in the next few days.

Now that night has fallen, all I need is a well-earned martini in hand while I take in the beautiful view of Sydney Harbour.

Looking at the drink in my hand as I leaned back in my seat, my mind drifted back to earlier—that woman. The memory pulled a sneer from me. Really, how dare she ruin my mood… and my blouse.

Still, I can’t lie—she got under my skin a little. Maybe it’s the uniform, maybe the attitude. I don’t usually care much for cops, but something about her felt different.

Clumsy, yes. But kind of cute, too.

I pulled myself back before my thoughts could wander any further. I’m mad at her—I need to remember that.

As I took another sip from my glass, I caught a man across the lounge watching me. When our eyes met, he raised his drink. I mirrored the gesture, offering a polite smile.

Might as well play along.

I let out a quiet laugh. Men—always so eager for a little attention.

They never fail to entertain… not that I’m really looking.

Surprisingly, he walked straight over to where I was sitting.

“Mind if I join you?” he asked—though he was already pulling out the chair.

“No… not at all,” I said, forcing a smile as I quickly took a long sip of my drink.

Of course he sat down. They always do. A smile and a glance—that’s all it takes for their egos to come running. God, men are exhausting.

“So, what are you here for?” he asked, clearly trying to fill the silence after realizing I wasn’t going to.

“Business,” I replied—flat, honest, and straight to the point.

He chuckled, swirling the drink in his hand. “Ah. Business stuff. Sounds important.”

Then he leaned in, trying to sound casual.

“Are you like… an assistant? Or maybe a sexytary?”

He laughed at his own words, clearly proud of that disaster of a joke.

Ah, there it is—the casual underestimation, gift-wrapped in sleaze and self-amusement. I could be the CEO, the owner, hell—even the one signing his paycheck—but no, in his head, I’m fetching coffee or stapling reports in a pencil skirt.

But instead of rolling my eyes and telling him just how pathetic that observation was—and to go suck his own dick, like I usually would—I set my glass down with a soft clink, leaned back in my seat, and crossed my legs… slowly, deliberately, suggestively.

Like I said, I’ll play a little.

By the end of the night, he’ll be my puppet—and I’ll be the one pulling every string.

"Hmm. Neither," I say, letting the corner of my mouth lift into something that’s almost a smirk. "But I know I can be a good secretary."

He perks up at that, eyes lighting up the way a dim bulb does.

“You know what? We should drink some more.” As he says those words, he’s already calling for a waiter to get us more drinks.

I raise an eyebrow at that, and my smirk widens.

“You know,” you say, letting your fingers lightly graze the rim of your glass, “when i noticed you there, i feel like you are a man that is carrying himself as incharge. Must be exhausting being the smartest one in the room all the time.” I smiled suggestively 

He beams. Of course he does.

“Well, you know,” he chuckles, “I try to stay humble.”

As the new drinks arrive, I place my hand on his wrist, toying with the cuff of his sleeve.

“Oh, clearly,” I smile sweetly, leaning in just enough to make him think he’s got me hooked.

“You must get women all the time. So charming. So... worldly.”

I let my voice drop slightly on that last word, letting it settle like bait.

His ego swells—I can see it in the way he shifts, puffing up his chest like a bird mid-mating display.

He opens his mouth to say something—probably another half-witted comment—but I beat him to it.

I down the last of my drink, gently set the glass on the table, and stand.

“Anyway…” I grab my clutch, eyes trailing lazily over him one last time.

“This was fun. I needed a laugh.”

He blinks, caught off guard.

“Wait—where are you going?”

I flash him a dazzling, insincere smile.

“To find someone with more than two brain cells to rub together. Goodnight.”

And just like that, I walk away—leaving him in the dust, speechless, glass still in hand.

As I walk out, I can’t help but laugh at how some men can be so oblivious—so obtuse—that they can’t even read a room.

｡ﾟ•┈꒰ა ♡ ໒꒱┈•  ｡ﾟ

Working overnight had left Miranda so exhausted that she was starting to slack off—much to Robin’s irritation. Robin had to keep reminding her that the job needed to be done quickly.

It was now afternoon, and the measly two hours of sleep Miranda managed to get weren’t nearly enough to keep her functioning properly.

They're checking toll records now—just to see if Y/N’s already made it into town. Might help narrow things down a bit.

And as if the universe finally decided to cooperate, her name popped up.

They sent in a request for more detailed toll data—just enough to take a better look.

And there she was.

Finally, a face. A car. A time stamp.

Robin stared at the screen. "Well, hello there," she muttered, sitting up straighter.

"Now we’re getting somewhere."

Miranda looked at the screen, her tired face slowly morphing into a smile.

“Oh, it’s her!” she said, pointing excitedly.

“Who? You know her?” Robin asked, brows furrowed.

“Well… not exactly know her,” Miranda admitted, her excitement softening into a quiet, slightly guilty tone.

“She’s the girl from the café yesterday—the one I spilled coffee on.”

As she’s busy looking at the floor with a pout on her lips, Robin stood up and put on her jacket.

“Let’s go, Hilmarson. No time for your sulking.”

“Huh? To where?” Miranda asked, looking at Robin.

Robin sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose.

“To that coffee shop.” And then she’s out of the door.

Miranda quickly follows as she rambles that she still needs to apologize to the woman.

As they arrived, they requested access to the café’s CCTV footage, hoping to catch even the slightest clue. It wasn’t much, but it was enough—there she was, walking out of the café, head held high, heels clicking against the pavement.

They watched closely as she turned left outside the shop. South. That was something. They pulled up traffic cams and nearby CCTV feeds along that direction, following her like a breadcrumb trail.

Every few blocks, they paused, rewound, and scanned again. There—a glimpse of her in the reflection of a shop window. Then again, passing by a petrol station. Miranda, now fully awake and focused, traced her route like a detective in one of those old spy thrillers.

They narrowed it down to a handful of potential stops. Finally, bingo—one of the cameras from the Crown Tower’s side entrance caught her stepping out of a car, walking through the glass doors like she owned the place.

Robin crossed her arms, giving Miranda a look. “Crown Towers. Of course.”

Miranda let out a breath, a small, satisfied smile forming on her lips. “Well… at least now we know where she’s staying.”

｡ﾟ•┈꒰ა ♡ ໒꒱┈•  ｡ﾟ

Two more days before the meeting. Two more days before I have to switch into full professional mode and sit through everything with him. Until then, I’m going to savor every second—every sip, every quiet moment. These are the last two days of peace, and I intend to enjoy them to the fullest.

But moments like this make me think—how lonely it can get without a partner. I’ve dedicated so much of my life to my work, and while I don’t regret it, I’m still young... and I have needs. Emotional, physical, even just someone to share silence with. Success feels a little quieter when there's no one to share it with.

I think about a hookup—just something to take the edge off. But I stopped myself. It’s all temporary, a flash of warmth followed by the same old emptiness. I can’t live like that. I’m not one for casual flings, not really... though I’ve had my fair share before. It always ends the same: fleeting comfort, then nothing.

Groaning, I lay on my bed, starfished and annoyed—mostly at myself. Of course my brain had to fixate on her again. Curse my photographic memory for faces; it just had to store hers in perfect detail. The way her uniform hugged her frame, that sharp jaw, those stupidly pretty blue  eyes… God, she was stunning. I can’t even explain it, but thinking about her stirs something in my stomach.

Too bad our first encounter was a disaster. And no, I haven’t forgotten it—nor do I plan to. Call it petty if you want. I call it principle.

｡ﾟ•┈꒰ა ♡ ໒꒱┈•  ｡ﾟ

By morning, I woke up to the telephone ringing nonstop. I tried to block out the sound by covering my ears with a pillow… it didn’t help.

I sat up and cursed, murmuring, “This better be good, or else.”

“What?” I answered the call. I didn’t mean to sound rude, but I just don’t like waking up this early.

“Good morning, Ms. L/N. I apologize for waking you, but there are two officers asking to see you…” the receptionist from the hotel lobby explained. My eyebrow rose the moment I heard the word officer.

They went on, saying they couldn’t just send the officers up to my room since they didn’t disclose the nature of their visit—and of course, hotel policy. They asked if they could give the officers my room number and send them up. I asked for their names, and when one of them sounded familiar, curiosity got the better of me, and I agreed.

What do they want now?

I muttered to myself as I threw on my robe and fixed my hair, at least trying to look presentable.

A minute later, there was a ring at my door.

For a moment, I hesitated—unsure if I really wanted to open it.

｡ﾟ•┈꒰ა ♡ ໒꒱┈•  ｡ﾟ

Y/N stood and walked straight to the door, unlocking it slowly—still unsure whether to face them or let them keep ringing. She chose the former.

She opened it halfway and saw the smaller woman standing there, with the constable she’d met just behind her.

She crossed her arms and leaned against the doorframe, eyeing them almost judgmentally.

“What do you want from me?” she asked, her tone flat.

Miranda, who’d been staring the moment the door opened, gulped and cleared her throat, hesitant to speak.

Robin, unfazed by the attitude—and clearly aware that Miranda would take forever to get the words out—stepped in.

“We're here for some questioning… and possibly your help.”

She scoffed, “I don’t do interviews, and I don’t do favors.”

She was halfway through shutting the door when a hand caught it—Miranda’s.

The younger officer stepped forward, her voice a little rushed.

“Wait—please. It's about Xavier Gruber."

Y/N looked at her and let out a short, amused laugh.

“If the man is dead, I couldn’t care less. He’s not significant to me—find someone else.”

“Can we not do this here?” Robin interrupted, already pushing past Y/N to enter the room.

“Wait— you can’t just enter! I will call security,” Y/N protested.

When she walked to get the telephone and was about to dial, Miranda's hand caught her wrist, stopping her.

“Please, just hear us out,” she pleaded.

Y/N narrowed her eyes at her but didn’t yank her hand away—not yet.

“And even if you call security,” Robin cut in, voice level but firm, “they can’t stop us from questioning you. And if you keep resisting, you’ll leave us no choice but to take you to the station.”

There it is. The thinly veiled threat behind the badge.

They barge in like they own the place and now try to throw weight around?

She slowly turned her head, eyes sharp as glass.

“Oh, power-tripping, are we?” she said coldly, locking eyes with Robin, every syllable biting.

Robin and Y/N are locked in a stare, the air between them heavy, almost crackling. One wrong word, one deeper glare, and this would escalate.

Y/N steps forward, chin tilted in defiance.

Robin doesn’t back down.

But just as the tension spikes, Miranda quickly steps between them, hands out like a shield.

“Okay, okay—can we just not turn this into a power struggle?” she says, her voice high with nervous energy but firm enough to make them pause.

She glances between the two, clearly panicking a little.

“I swear, we’re not here to drag you out in handcuffs or wave our badges around. We just... need information. That’s all.”

Y/N’s jaw clenches, but she takes a breath and pulls her wrist away from Miranda’s hold—who, almost unconsciously, had softened her grip, her thumb brushing lightly as if in apology. 

Robin doesn’t say anything, but the glare she sends Miranda’s way says she wasn’t finished.

Miranda just sighs inwardly. If she hadn’t stepped in, the room would be on fire by now.

Y/N walks around the table to put the telephone back in its place. Then she heads to the couch and takes a seat—leaning back, arms crossed, glaring up at the two officers. She exhales sharply before saying,

“Fine. Ask. Make it quick, I want you out of my room.”

Miranda, who’s standing eagerly, fishes out her notepad and makes herself comfortable beside the woman.

Y/N eyes her, something unreadable flickering behind her gaze, but she says nothing.

“Let’s start with what you know about Xavier Gruber,” Robin said calmly, settling into the seat across from Y/N with a steady gaze.

Y/N raises one eyebrow but answers anyway.

“Xavier is one of our biggest investors in the company. For the last two years, he’s been helping us a lot.”

Robin nods slowly. “Helping how, exactly?”

Y/N shrugs.

“Funding, mostly. He came in when we were struggling to expand—offered capital, connections, even helped us land a few international deals.”

Y/N looks at both women—Miranda, who’s busy taking notes, and Robin, who seems ready to ask another question—but Y/N beats her to it.

“I think I deserve to know why you’re asking me these kinds of questions.”

Both women paused, exchanging a glance.

“Well, first, I want to make sure that you—or anyone at Oakshire—aren’t involved in any of Xavier’s illegal transactions—”

Y/N cut her off, her voice sharper, eyes narrowing with suspicion.

“Illegal transactions?” she repeated slowly. “What exactly are you accusing us of?”

"Oh—no, we’re not accusing anyone in your company," Miranda said, sitting up straighter, trying not to sound too defensive. "We’re actually here because... well, we need your help. And, um, like it or not, you probably need ours too."

She winced a little. That came out weird. Not threatening, just... blunt. Still, it was the truth. 

Y/N, still skeptical about the situation she’s found herself in, lets out a slow breath and leans back. Her voice, calmer now but guarded, cuts through the silence.

“Elaborate.”

They explained that Xavier had built a network of shell companies to cover his tracks. That’s how he managed to slip into Oakshire — by presenting himself as a major investor, moving large amounts of money. But all of it wasn’t clean. He was using Oakshire as a front to launder his dirty money.

And that wasn’t even the worst of it. He was involved in several illegal operations, using different companies to hide his activities.

The upcoming meeting? That was to finalize the launch of Aureum Cellar — a seemingly legitimate business move, but in reality, it was going to be the perfect cover. A luxury brand, backed by Oakshire, used to discreetly move contraband across countries.

If it goes through, it’ll be Oakshire’s downfall — and Xavier gets to walk away clean, again.

Miranda shifted a little, her voice gentle, almost nervous but hopeful.

“And that’s… um, that’s why we’re really hoping for your cooperation. If you go through with the meeting and sign the contract—just to make him think everything’s normal—we’ll be ready to step in and catch him.”

Y/N went quiet. She couldn’t believe it—not just the fact that Xavier fooled them into thinking he had legitimate companies, but that she had believed it. Looking back, remembering that smug face of his, it was almost laughable. She had trusted him, or at the very least, never questioned him. And now? Now she couldn’t believe he was capable of pulling something like this off.

And the thought that Oakshire could come crashing down if his plan actually worked—made her fingers tighten against the couch.

"How do you want my help?" she finally asked, and Miranda’s face lit up with relief.

｡ﾟ•┈꒰ა ♡ ໒꒱┈•  ｡ﾟ

The awaited day arrived. Y/N was getting ready for her meeting with Xavier when her phone buzzed. She glanced at the caller ID — it was Miranda.

She remembered what happened just before they left, after the questioning. Miranda had stopped suddenly, turning to face Y/N again, shifting awkwardly on her feet before finally speaking up.

“Erm… before I forget, I just need to get your number.”

Instead of scribbling it down on her notepad like earlier, she pulled out her phone and handed it to Y/N, who reluctantly typed her number in.

“In case we have more questions. And, to keep you updated—”

“Yes, yes. I know,” Y/N cut in as she passed the phone back.

Miranda grinned, glancing down at her screen. She stood there for a few extra seconds, lingering—until a pointed clearing of the throat from Robin broke the moment.

“Let’s go,” Robin gestured toward the door.

Miranda fumbled, muttering an apology and quickly saying goodbye to Y/N before hurrying after her partner.

｡ﾟ•┈꒰ა ♡ ໒꒱┈•  ｡ﾟ

Answering the call, she was met with Miranda’s cheerful voice, though there was a faint nervous energy beneath it.

“Hi! Good afternoon,” she greeted, a touch quickly. “I just… wanted to remind you that I’ll be the one escorting you to the Grand Cellar Lounge. The team’s already setting things up, and um—if it’s alright—we’ll need to get there a little early. Adrian wants to go over a few things before you meet Xavier, just to make sure everything goes smoothly.”

Y/N huffs a short laugh under her breath.

She always sounds a little nervous when she talks to me. Just a hint—not enough to be awkward, but enough to notice. It’s kind of cute, though I doubt she even realizes she’s doing it. Makes me wonder what exactly it is about me that gets her tongue-tied.

“Are you coming over now? I am still not done with my make up.” She replied, trying not to smudge her eyeliner.

Miranda paused, phone pressed to her ear, fingers fidgeting with the hem of her sleeve as she listened.

Without really thinking, she muttered, “You probably don’t even need much makeup... you’re already really pretty.”

There was silence on the line.

Her eyes blinked rapidly as the words registered—oh god, did she just say that out loud?

Her face instantly flushed, and she cleared her throat, trying to play it off.

“I mean—uh, just saying. You always look put together anyway.”

Y/N paused mid-swipe of her lipstick, a smirk tugging at the corner of her mouth.

“Oh… you think I’m pretty?” she teased, her tone light but unmistakably amused.

On the other end, she could hear Miranda gulp softly, followed by a nervous little chuckle.

“I mean—uh, objectively? Yes? I just meant… you don’t really need makeup, that’s all.”

Y/N let out a low hum, clearly entertained.

“So now I’m ‘objectively’ pretty?” she leaned closer to the mirror, fixing the lipstick she’d misapplied.

“Careful, Officer. Keep talking like that and I might think you’re flirting.”

Miranda stammered something inaudible, and Y/N swore she could hear the blush radiating through the phone.

“I—no—I mean, not that I’m not—but that’s not—ugh,” Miranda sighed, defeated. “I’m gonna shut up now.”

Y/N laughed, genuinely this time. “Good call. Anyway, if you’re planning to come over now, I’ll probably be done by the time you get here.”

Miranda, who is standing still, moves to walk over to her car, “right will see you soon.” 

Y/N laughed as she hung up.

Miranda adjusted the rearview mirror, catching sight of her own reflection—her face was red. Like, really red.

She groaned softly and leaned back in her seat, keys still in hand but not moving. What is happening to me?

The city buzzed quietly outside, but her thoughts had already wandered. Again. Right back to Y/N.

She didn’t mean to—honestly, she didn’t—but the woman’s face just kept popping up in her head. Hauntingly beautiful. Even when she looked irritated… or said something snarky. Still somehow—ugh—stunning.

Miranda stared at herself in the mirror, her lips twitching into an awkward smile.

Seriously, why do I keep thinking about her?

Before she could get distracted again, Miranda quickly started the engine and shook her head. “Focus,” she muttered to herself, gripping the wheel a little tighter than necessary as she pulled out into the road.

The car rolled through the afternoon streets, sunlight flickering past the windows. Miranda tried to focus on the road, but her thoughts kept circling back. By the time she pulled up in front of the hotel where Y/N was staying, her nerves were already in a quiet tangle—and it wasn’t just because of the job.

She took the elevator up to Y/N’s floor, her fingers fidgeting slightly with the hem of hershirt. Once outside the room, she knocked gently and waited, glancing around the hallway to distract herself. On the outside, she looked composed—calm even—but her mind was anything but. A swirl of nerves, half-formed thoughts, and the sound of her own heartbeat filled the quiet space as she stood there, waiting.

When Y/N opened the door, she was still fixing the strap of her heel, her eyes lifting just in time to meet Miranda’s.

Miranda straightened a little too quickly, her eyes flicking up and down before landing back on Y/N’s face—almost at a loss for words. 

“Oh—hi,” Miranda managed, her voice a little higher than usual before she cleared her throat. “You look... ready.” She gave a small smile, shifting on her feet, suddenly very aware of her own hands and where to place them.

Y/N raised an eyebrow, amused. “Was that a compliment or an observation?”

Miranda blinked. “Uh—both?”

Shaking her head, Y/N reached for her purse on the table near the door and clutched it with ease.

“Let’s go,” she said coolly, stepping out and locking the door behind her.

Miranda gave a quick nod, silently falling into step beside her.

When they reached the car, Miranda jogged ahead to open the passenger side door. Y/N slid in with a small, grateful smile and murmured, “Thanks.”

Miranda quickly rounded the front of the car, cheeks slightly warm again despite the air-conditioning. She didn’t answer right away, only offered a shy nod as she slipped into the driver’s seat.

The car ride was quiet—not awkward, just comfortably still. But then, something clicked in Miranda’s mind, and her hands subtly stiffened on the steering wheel.

She glanced sideways. Y/N was leaning slightly on the door, eyes fixed outside the window, seemingly lost in thought.

Miranda hesitated, her fingers tightening for a second before loosening again. Should she say it? Should she bring it up now?

“Ehem, I apologize.” Miranda started, voice a bit higher than usual as she cleared her throat.

Y/N, her face leaning against the window, perked up slightly, one brow rising with mild curiosity. “What exactly are you apologizing for?” she asked, turning her head just enough to glance at Miranda.

Miranda gripped the wheel a little tighter, eyes fixed on the road. “For the first time we met, I spilled coffee on you and ruined your clothes…” she quietly said. 

“Oh. That,” Y/N said, quiet for a beat as Miranda pulled the car into the parking slot. Just as the engine died and silence fell over them again, she turned slightly, a sly smirk tugging at her lips. “I’m still not forgiving you about that… yet.”

Before Miranda could react, Y/N was already stepping out of the car with casual confidence, spotting the man she assumed to be Adrian, waiting near the entrance. He greeted her with a brief nod and motioned for her to follow him inside, leading her toward the room where the rest of adrian team was waiting.

Miranda, caught off guard by Y/N’s teasing response, blinked at the windshield, her thoughts scrambling. “Wait—what?” she muttered under her breath, flustered, before quickly unbuckling her seatbelt and stepping out to follow.

｡ﾟ•┈꒰ა ♡ ໒꒱┈•  ｡ﾟ

nside one of the private rooms of the Grand Cellar Lounge, Robin and Adrian walked Y/N through the final details of the operation. Surveillance equipment was already in place—hidden cameras in the corners, microphones tucked into the décor, and Y/N herself had been fitted with a tiny mic beneath her blouse collar and a discreet pinhole camera embedded in the pendant she wore. From a nearby monitoring room, everything could be watched in real time.

The plan was simple: play along with Xavier’s proposal, let the meeting unfold naturally. Once she signed the contract, that would be the cue. They’d move in and arrest him before he even had time to celebrate.

As she adjusted the necklace and glanced at herself in the reflection of the wine cabinet glass, Y/N muttered with a dry smile, “So let me get this straight—I’m supposed to wine and dine a fraud, flatter his fragile ego, and act like I’m impressed. Sounds like half of my business meetings.”

Robin smirked faintly, but stayed focused.

Adrian said nothing, just double-checked the audio feed levels.

Miranda, however, cracked—her lips twitching before she let out a quiet laugh, then quickly cleared her throat and looked away. “Sorry,” she mumbled, failing to hide the grin on her face. 

Y/N quirked a brow, amused. “You okay there, Constable?”

Miranda straightened, brushing her knuckles against her temple. “Fine. Just… you’re good at this, that’s all.” Her voice was softer, and if anyone was paying attention, they might’ve noticed the pink creeping up her ears.

Y/N didn’t press, just held Miranda’s gaze a second longer before speaking again. “Let’s just make sure he doesn’t see it coming.”

Robin nodded firmly. “We’ll be watching. The moment your pen hits that paper, it’s over for him.”

｡ﾟ•┈꒰ა ♡ ໒꒱┈•  ｡ﾟ

Y/N opened the door to one of the private rooms in the Grand Cellar Lounge, expecting Xavier to already be there. He wasn’t.

She rolled her eyes and let out a quiet sigh, heels clicking softly against the floor as she moved to take a seat.

Almost on cue, the door opened behind her.

Xavier strolled in, flanked by two men in sharp suits. He flashed her a smile, all charm and no sincerity. “Apologies for arriving late,” he said, settling into the seat across from her like he owned the place.

Y/N didn’t respond right away. She simply glanced at the two men behind him, one brow raised. Xavier noticed and chuckled.

“Please, excuse them,” he said casually, before turning over his shoulder. “Wait outside—and call for a waiter. We’ll need wine.”

Without a word, the two men nodded and stepped out, leaving the door to swing softly shut behind them.

“Again, my apologies,” Xavier said smoothly. “We had another meeting run long—that’s why I arrived late.”

Y/N leaned back, a faint smirk playing on her lips. “You know, considering this is such a major and important project, I’m a little hurt you prioritized something else over Oakshire.”

She placed a hand over her chest in mock offense. “Truly—wounded.”

He just chuckled, clearly oblivious to her mockery. His eyes shamelessly raked over her, lingering far too long on her legs.

“Well, look at you,” he said with a slow smile. “Undoubtedly charming.”

Y/N didn’t flinch, just stared at him, unimpressed. Then she cleared her throat.

“Back to business, Xavier.”

Her posture straightened, voice shifting into something firm and professional, all traces of her earlier sarcasm gone.

He snapped out of it with a nod.

“Alright,” he said, reaching into his briefcase to pull out a folder and his laptop, setting them up with practiced ease. “Let’s go over the details again.”

As the meeting began, Xavier launched into his pitch—outlining every detail of the Aureum Cellar project. He spoke with enthusiasm, painting it as a revolutionary venture that would elevate Oakshire’s reputation and global reach.

A waiter stepped in midway, placing two wine glasses in front of them and carefully pouring deep red wine before exiting with a quiet nod.

Y/N reached for her glass, but just as it neared her lips, a faint, unfamiliar scent caught her attention—something off. Her fingers paused mid-air before gently setting the glass back down. Almost without thinking, she adjusted the delicate necklace around her neck, subtly repositioning it—camera now aimed just right.

Back in the monitoring room, all eyes were glued to the screen—watching every move. But none more intently than Miranda, who couldn’t hide her amusement at how effortlessly Y/N shifted from biting sarcasm to sharp professionalism. It was almost entertaining.

As they continued watching, the moment they had been waiting for arrived. Y/N leaned forward, feigning interest as she complimented Xavier’s “brilliant idea.” Her tone was smooth, almost convincing. Then, with a calm smile, she picked up the pen and signed the contract. 

Robin, Miranda, and two other officers were already moving down the corridor, eyes locked on the private room ahead. But as they neared, they noticed the two men who had accompanied Xavier earlier—now standing firmly at the door, almost like guards.

The moment they spotted the approaching officers, both men stepped forward, blocking the entrance.

One of them raised a hand, voice calm but firm, “This is a private meeting. No one is allowed inside.”

Robin didn’t slow her pace. “Step aside. Now.”

But the man didn’t budge. His partner subtly reached into his coat.

Miranda tensed. “Robin—”

Robin pulled out her badge and held it up. “Federal officers. Step aside.”

The two men exchanged a quick glance—silent, calculated—before their hands moved.

In a flash, both reached under their coats, pulling out handguns and aiming straight at them.

Miranda, already anticipating the shift, drew her weapon just as fast, her stance solid as she pointed it right back at them. “Don't,” she warned, her voice sharp, steady.

Tension crackled in the narrow hallway.

Robin didn’t flinch. “Put your weapons down. Now.”

Inside, Y/N shook Xavier’s hand as he grinned widely. He reached for his glass of wine.

“Well, let’s call for a celebration,” he said, raising his glass toward her in a toast, clearly expecting her to do the same.

She raised an eyebrow but reached for her own glass anyway, lifting it slightly in response to his toast. She didn’t drink—just held it there, offering a small, polite smile.

Her eyes flicked briefly toward the door.

What’s taking them so long? she wondered, the faintest crease forming on her brow.

A sudden commotion outside made her freeze, then quickly rise to her feet. Xavier followed suit, his face tightening as he pulled out his phone.

He dialed one of his men, eyes darting toward the door. No answer.

He tried again—nothing.

His brow furrowed in frustration as he looked up at Y/N, confusion creeping in.

She just raised an eyebrow at him, cool and composed, saying nothing.

Xavier strode to the door and cracked it open just enough to see what was happening outside. His eyes widened—his men were being cuffed by officers. Robin spotted him peeking and immediately rushed toward the door as the two other officers dragged the men away.

With a curse under his breath, Xavier slammed the door shut and locked it.

He turned slowly, eyes dark and seething, locking a glare on Y/N.

Y/N instinctively backed away as Xavier advanced, her pulse quick but her expression steady.

“After everything I’ve done for your company—you call the cops on me?” he hissed, rage bubbling under his words. He reached the table, grabbed something from beneath the files—a gun—and pointed it straight at her.

Y/N’s eyes didn’t leave him. Her voice was calm, biting.

“You never did anything for this company. You just used it—funneled your dirty money through it to make yourself look legitimate.”

Before he could even tighten his grip on the trigger, the door burst open.

“Don’t move!” Miranda shouted, gun raised, voice trembling only slightly under the pressure.

Xavier flinched, but didn’t lower the weapon. His eyes darted between the officers closing in. Robin stepped forward slowly, her badge visible, voice calm but firm.

“Put the gun down, Xavier. Don’t make this worse.”

His jaw clenched. He took a step back, the gun still pointed—shaking slightly now.

“You set me up,” he spat, glaring at Y/N, then at all of them.

“I said drop it,” Robin repeated.

His shoulders rose with a shallow breath. Then finally—slowly—he lowered the gun and let it clatter onto the table.

Miranda exhaled, still holding her aim steady as Robin swiftly moved in to cuff him.

As Robin moved in and secured the cuffs around his wrists, Xavier stayed eerily quiet, his jaw tight with frustration.

Y/N stepped out from behind the table, her expression unreadable as she approached.

She looked down at him—then tilted her head slightly, voice low but clear.

“You know, for someone who prides himself on being ten steps ahead, you didn’t see this coming.”

Xavier looked up at her, eyes burning.

Y/N gave him a tight, almost mocking smile.

“Must be exhausting… carrying all that ego and still ending up in handcuffs.”

Robin gave her a look that was part impressed, part warning, while Miranda just blinked—somewhere between concern and admiration.

Then they led him out of the room.

As they moved out of the room, Y/N and Miranda were left inside.

“I can escort you back to your hotel,” Miranda offered, her voice gentle.

Y/N looked up as she started gathering her things, removing the mic and the necklace with the camera. She walked over and placed them in Miranda’s hands. Then, reaching into her clutch, she pulled out the money Miranda had given her when they first met.

“I can go back to my hotel on my own. And this—I don’t need it.”

“B—but what else can I do so you’ll forgive me?” Miranda’s voice was small as she looked at Y/N’s retreating form.

Y/N paused, thinking for a moment. Then, as if struck with a bright idea, she turned back—mischief glinting in her eyes.

“Take me out to dinner, then. Tomorrow. Show up at my hotel… or we’ll leave this as it is,” she said, walking off without another glance.

Miranda stood frozen, stunned, before the warmth crept up her face. She glanced down at the money still in her hand—and smiled.

She started to run after Y/N, but by the time she turned the corner, the woman was already gone.

“Hilmarson. We need to go back now,” came Robin’s voice beside her.

But Miranda could barely register it—her mind was still chasing after the woman who just turned her world on its head.

Dinner it is.

And dinner they did.

The next day, Miranda showed up at Y/N’s hotel—freshly groomed, nervous energy buzzing beneath her calm facade, and a single flower clutched in her hand like a lifeline.

Joan didn’t rush her.

She simply watched—quiet, steady—as Ophelia’s breath came in fragile, shaking waves.

“You’re trembling,” Joan said, brushing the blanket down slightly, just enough to touch her shoulder. “You don’t have to carry this alone anymore.”

Ophelia looked down, ashamed. Her voice was small.

“I feel… wrong. Like something’s still inside me. Like it’s clinging.”

“That’s how it works,” Joan murmured. “It doesn’t leave with the dream. It leaves residue—fear, shame, desire. And it hides in the body.”

Joan’s fingers moved gently to Ophelia’s wrist. “But it doesn’t get to keep you. Not if we claim you back.”

Ophelia blinked, confused. “Claim me?”

Joan nodded, slow.

“There is cleansing that words alone can’t give. The enemy touched your body—so it’s through your body you must be restored.”

Her hand moved to Ophelia’s chest, just above her heart, flat and warm. “Let me help you feel clean again.

A breath caught in Ophelia’s throat. Her eyes welled with something she didn’t understand—need, grief, hunger. She didn’t speak.

“You trust me, don’t you?

Ophelia nodded before she even realized she had.

Joan leaned in. Her voice dropped to a hush.

“Then let me show you what it means to be claimed by holiness.”

Joan guided Ophelia out of the guest room and into her own—quietly, like a shepherd leading a lamb.

She helped her sit at the edge of the bed.

“Let me help you, Ophelia,” she said softly.

Her hands rose to Ophelia’s shoulders, fingers brushing the fabric of her white nightgown. Slowly, she eased the sleeves down, coaxing them gently.

Ophelia’s breath hitched.

“We will claim you back,” Joan whispered. “That ache will be gone in no time.”

Ophelia didn’t move to cover herself. Even as the gown slipped lower—baring the soft, trembling shape of her chest—she didn’t resist. She knew she could trust Joa.

She didn’t know how. She just… knew.

Joan murmured in a language Ophelia didn’t recognize—biblical, ancient, almost holy. Her voice flowed like prayer as her hands continued their quiet work, stripping her piece by piece, as if unveiling something sacred.

Ophelia watched her, wide-eyed.

Seeing Joan like this stirred something low in her belly—something wrong, maybe, but undeniable. Something she shouldn’t want… but did.

Another word passed from Joan’s mouth—firm this time, deliberate. She met Ophelia’s eyes.

“Let me claim you back.”

And Ophelia let her.

She lay back on the bed as Joan guided her down, eyes fluttering shut.

Joan’s hands moved with purpose now—wandering, circling, pressing gently over her skin like she was mapping out what needed healing.

Every touch made the heat rise in Ophelia’s body, blooming in places she didn’t want to name.

A gasp escaped her lips.

Just like in her dreams, she felt it—low and deep, blooming heat between her thighs. But this time, the touch was real. Softer. Warmer. Devotional.

Joan’s voice remained steady, reverent.

“I will release that fire from your body,” she murmured, her fingers working in slow, deliberate motion. “It’s not yours to carry, Ophelia. It was placed there to torment you.”

She leaned closer, breath grazing Ophelia’s cheek like incense. “But I can draw it out. Cleanse it. Make you holy again.”

Her other hand moved to Ophelia’s chest—over her heart, grounding her.

“Every part of you belongs to God,” Joan whispered, almost praying.

“I touch you only as His vessel. I return what was stolen. I restored what was twisted.”

Words continued under her breath, unintelligible now—tongues or chants, maybe, but Ophelia couldn’t focus on them. Her body arched, trembling, caught between something sacred and something she feared might damn her.

And yet she didn’t stop it.

She let herself feel it.

She let Joan guide her through it.

Joan’s hand stayed on her chest, the other working below—steady, reverent, unrelenting.

Whispers filled the air like smoke. Sacred. Untranslated. Binding.

“You are being emptied, Ophelia. Not for pleasure— for purification.”

And when the release came, it wasn’t just the body that gave way—it was the soul.

Ophelia let go with a cry she didn’t recognize as hers.

Darkness folded in, soft and deep.

⛧°。 ⋆༺♱༻⋆。 °⛧

It started during morning prayer.

A slow curl of heat in her stomach. Familiar now. Too familiar.

She squeezed her eyes shut. Shifted in her seat. Pressed her knees together.

It didn’t help.

By midday, she could barely focus. The ache was back—low, steady, demanding.

Worse than before. Like it had been waiting for her to let her guard down.

She ducked into the chapel between classes, sat in the back pew, and whispered toward the altar

“God, please… please take it…”

But nothing eased. No calm. No silence.

Only that rising pulse, that thick pull in her chest and lower.

By late afternoon, her uniform clung to her skin with sweat. She felt hollow and full all at once. Fidgeting. Restless.

Not hungry. Not tired.

She just needed—

Joan.

Her hands shook as she packed her bag. It wasn’t their scheduled day, but that didn’t matter.

She didn’t ask permission. She didn’t tell anyone.

She just left.

The halls blurred past her. Her shoes echoed loud and fast. Her pulse thudded in her ears.

She’ll understand, Ophelia told herself.

She always does.

By the time she reached Joan’s door, her knuckles were white from gripping the strap of her bag. Her legs ached—not from walking, but from holding back.

She knocked once. Then again.

The door opened.

Joan stood there—quiet, composed, like she had known.

Ophelia’s voice cracked.

“I—I couldn’t wait. I’m sorry. I just… I need help again.”

Joan didn’t scold her. Didn’t ask why. She simply opened the door wider.

“Come in,” she said.

“You did the right thing.”

The room was dim, quiet. Not prepared like a chapel—just clean. Familiar. Waiting.

Joan closed the door behind her.

“Take off your shoes,” she said, as if it were the most ordinary thing in the world.

Ophelia didn’t hesitate.

She moved on instinct now. Sat on the edge of the bed. Reached for the buttons on her blouse, fingers trembling.

Joan crossed the room slowly.

“Let me,” she said. And Ophelia let her.

There were no prayers this time. No chants or foreign tongues.

Just hands. Warm, practiced hands.

Undressing her. Helping her lie back.

The silence between them didn’t feel sacred anymore. It just felt known. Routine.

And when it happened—when Ophelia gasped, cried out, shook under Joan’s touch—it didn’t feel like a ritual. It felt like a release.

Relief.

Joan didn’t leave.

She cleaned her gently with a warm cloth. Brushed hair from her face. Pulled the sheet up and tucked it beneath her chin.

“Rest, dear,” she whispered.

“You’ve done well.”

Then she lay beside her. Quiet. Still. Not touching. Just there.

Ophelia stared at the ceiling.

She didn’t feel wrong.

She didn’t feel afraid.

She just felt… warm. Held. Chosen.

Something fluttered in her chest—light and low, like a secret trying to take shape.

She didn’t know what it was. Only that she didn’t want it to stop.

I think I’m falling, she thought.

And I don’t know if it’s into grace… or into her.

She didn’t remember falling asleep.

Only waking—warm, clean, and aching in a way that no longer scared her. The sheets felt heavier than usual. The room was dim, the air still.

Joan sat nearby, not in bed, but in her chair. Watching her. A book in her lap, unopened.

“You’re awake,” Joan said softly.

Ophelia didn’t answer. She sat up slowly, the sheet slipping off her shoulder. She didn’t bother pulling it back. “I shouldn’t have come today,” she whispered.

Joan’s gaze didn’t waver. “You did what you needed,” she said. “I told you—you don’t have to wait for permission.”

That made something twist inside Ophelia. A strange comfort. A deeper ache.

She looked down at her hands—fingers that had gripped Joan’s shoulders, held her tight, begged in silence.

“I didn’t come for prayer,” she admitted.

“Not really.”

Joan didn’t reply. She didn’t need to.

Because they both knew.

Later, back at the dorm, Ophelia sat at her desk, her Bible open. But her eyes didn’t move across the page.

She hadn’t told anyone where she’d gone. No one had asked.

She tried to read. Tried to ground herself.

But her skin still remembered Joan’s hands.

Her thighs ached. Her mouth burned with unspoken words.

She flipped aimlessly—Jeremiah, Corinthians, back to Psalms. The passages she once loved felt unfamiliar now. Heavy. Incomplete.

“The body is a temple,” she whispered aloud.

But Joan had touched that temple. And Ophelia had let her in. Opened every door. Let herself be entered, claimed, changed.

She pressed her palms together, like she was praying.

But all she could think about was Joan’s breath at her ear.

Her voice murmuring “You’re mine now.”

Was that holy?

Was it wrong?

She didn’t know anymore.

All she knew was that she wanted to feel it again.

⛧°。 ⋆༺♱༻⋆。 °⛧

Joan didn’t sleep.

She rarely did after. Her body stilled, but her mind kept working—watching, listening to the silence Ophelia left behind.

The bed was still warm.

She sat back in her chair, hands folded, calm as ever. But beneath the stillness, she felt it:

A shift.

Ophelia had returned on her own. Unscheduled. Uninvited. I need her.That was no longer obedience.

That was devotion.

Joan closed her eyes and smiled faintly to herself.