— E L L A —
There was a soft murmur somewhere behind me, but I wasn't paying attention. I was too busy staring at the mirror, trying to figure out who that person was. It was me. I knew it logically, but knowing and believing felt like two different things, and my brain hadn't caught up yet.
My soft black curls that rested on my shoulders after two hours in a chair framed my face and fell against my neck. One side was loosely pinned back, with a few pieces escaping forward. The stylist arranged it with such care that it looked effortless. The dress was black sequins, shimmering in the green room light. It was floor-length and fitted closely to a mermaid cut that hugged every curve as if it had been sewn directly onto me. A sweeping white satin bow arched across my chest and one shoulder, cascading into a long ivory train that pooled on the floor behind me. At my throat was a thin black cloth piece acting like a choker, simple yet almost severe. Black and white. Soft and hard. The whole look was a contradiction that somehow became something stunning.
"Is this really what I look like right now?" My words were barely above a whisper, heart pounding as realization settled inside me.
My name was called out sharply from the doorway by the assistant, clipboard in hand, her eyes already shifting to the next item on her list. "Time to go."
My stomach did a flip. I pressed my palms against the sides of the dress for just a moment, just to feel something solid, before I moved.
The heels were loud. That was the first thing I noticed. Each click echoed off the floor like an announcement I didn't want to make. I wanted to walk on my toes instead, but I was wearing 6-inch heels, and that would have ended badly.
So I kept walking. The three other models near the set were everything I wasn't.....relaxed, laughing at something. One of them touched up her lip color without even looking. They seemed comfortable, like this was just another Tuesday. I felt about twelve years old standing near them, and I hated that feeling, but I held my chin up anyway.
The room was full of people. A lot of them. Industry folks, crew, someone with a camera ready. I could feel eyes on me, aware of how overwhelming it was when so many were focused on me. A low murmur moved through the room, not loud or directed, just that soft, involuntary sound a crowd makes when something catches them off guard. Someone near the back said something I didn't catch. Someone else laughed quietly, not unkindly. A photographer adjusted something without being asked.
Amidst my chaotic mind, my eyes fell on Sylus.
He stood slightly apart from everyone else as he always did, like he allowed himself to be near others only if he had to. He wore a dark suit, one hand in his pocket, and he was looking at me not glancing, not assessing, but fully focused on me. The rest of the room seemed to blur around us, and he didn't seem to notice or care.
Almost, I faltered.
Almost.
I met his gaze, and my heart did something like flutter. The nerves rose to the surface, not the professional kind, but the specific kind that only he caused.
I felt heat creep up my neck as he smiled at me like I was the only person that mattered to him. He walked up to me, his eyes never leaving mine, full of adoration and something I couldn't even place words on. He leaned closer as his essence filled my mind, my breath hitched, hearing his deep voice grazing my ears,
"You look absolutely breathtaking, Ella. See me after the shoot ok? All the best."
He pulled away as if he hadn't filled my entire composure upside down, that tingling sensation in my heart as if it hadn't just picked up the pace. I nodded, trying to pull myself together as I walked to the shooting area, but my mind and heart replayed the interaction like a broken recorder on a loop.
— — — — — — — — — — —
— S Y L U S —
I stood in the middle of the chaos, lost in my own thoughts. That facade of a cold and in-control person.Until I heard her name. Ella. The sharp echo of her heels cut through everything. It was clean and precise. I heard them before I even saw her.
When I looked up, I was struck. She didn't just walk in she arrived. Shining like she was the brightest in there, or the room of darkness I caged myself into, she was the brightest light shining through the darkness.
That dress clung to her as if it were meant for her, crafted to quietly ruin men. Black sequins caught the light with every step. Controlled. Deadly. That white satin bow at her waist looked out of place, but in a good way. Soft. Pure. It was like wings stitched to something far too tempting.
My jaw locked I could feel my throat dry up. My mind went blank. Not slow or confused. Just blank.
"Get it together. Sylus," I quietly murmured to myself as if it would help me. My thumb pressed into my palm, hard enough to ground me. Hard enough to remind me that I was still in control.
But I wasn't.
She parted her lips slightly, breathing slowly as she tried to steady herself. Nervous. I saw it in the smallest details, the way her fingers brushed back her curls, the tension in her shoulders that she thought no one noticed.
I noticed everything.
Every single thing.
I felt men staring at her, practically with that hint of lust in their eyes. I hated them.
Something dark inside me tightened.
"She was. Mine. "
My gaze stayed locked onto her like a threat. The lights hit her again. The dress came alive, black turning into liquid, effortlessly gliding down her waist and body, actually made my fingers itch to touch her and trace her skin if I could memorize it all.
Her eyes began to scan the room, searching until her gaze met mine. Her expression softened immediately. She gave me a small, real, and unfiltered. It looked like relief.
Like she had found something safe.
It almost made me laugh.
Safe?
If she knew what I was thinking right now, she wouldn't even want to be in the same room. Because every man who stared at her for too long was already marked in my mind. Every glance was calculated. Every second noted.
"I don't share. I don't tolerate. And I definitely don't forget. "
She held my gaze for a second longer, just enough to settle herself. Like I was hers, that thought struck deeper than it should have.
It was Dangerous.
Addictive. Ruining. The photographer called her name again. She turned away. But my heartbeat didn't slow it only grew louder and heavier. It felt like something inside me had awakened and refused to settle back down.
I pressed harder into my palm my fist clenching hard until my knuckle turned white.
Control.
Control.
Control.
My breath caught in my throat as I took in her appearance the way the black dress hugged her curves, accentuating every inch of her figure. That white satin bow at the small of her back drew my gaze like a magnet, and I found myself imagining untying the ribbon that rested on her thighs with my teeth.
I felt a surge of possessiveness unlike anything I'd ever experienced. I wanted to march onto that stage, scoop her up in my arms, and carry her away from all those prying eyes. My heart raced as I watched her walk away towards the shooting area, my fingers curling into fists at my sides. The urge to grab her, to keep her close and never let her go, was almost overwhelming. I wanted to run my hands over the silky fabric of her dress, to feel the warmth of her skin beneath my touch. My mind conjured images of kissing her right there in the midst of the chaos, uncaring of who saw. I imagined pressing my lips to hers until she melted against me, devouring her whole until we were both breathless and trembling with need.
My eyes locked onto her the moment she appeared by the set, as if I had no choice. She stood in front of the cameras, that radiant smile on her lips, and for a second, everything else just faded away.
"God, she was unreal."
Watching her like that, so confident and effortlessly beautiful, struck a chord in me. Pride filled my chest, sharp and thick, mixed with something more intense. A selfish greed as my chest tightened as I followed every movement, every graceful turn, the way she captivated the crowd without trying.
"She was made for this. Made to be seen."
Yet, I wanted her all to myself. My fingers twitched at my sides, longing to reach out, to pull her close, to take that smile away from everyone else. I could almost feel it, my thumb grazing the soft curve of her lips, just to see if she'd look at me the same way she looked at that night.
The thought hit harder than it should have. Felt heat rising to my cheek as I clenched my jaw and turned my gaze away, forcing myself to look anywhere other than at her. I couldn't keep staring. I couldn't let it show.
"Not here.
Not when I was so close to losing control.
Not when I knew I was a mess inside. A God Damn. Blushing.Yearning Mess."
The shoot continued as I stepped out by the stairwell window, trying to calm every fiber from losing its god damn sanity. As I stepped out to grab coffee, coming back, I stood in the dimly lit stairwell, holding a glass of coffee tightly in my hand. The dark, aromatic liquid swirled as I took a long, burning sip, trying to drown the ache settling deep in my chest.
Footsteps echoed from above, slow, steady, familiar. My pulse quickened. I recognized that rhythm.
Ella
I instinctively stepped back, letting the shadows cover me as she came down. Then she appeared.
My breath caught. She looked unreal. The low light wrapped around her as it belonged to her, her black hair catching the soft light in soft strands. That black dress...God, it clung to her in a way that made it impossible to look anywhere else.
I didn't even try.
I just stood there, watching her, taking her in like I'd been starved of the sight.
She paused at the entrance of the stairs, her brow slightly furrowed, as if something weighed on her mind. She had no idea I was there. No idea how close I was. How hard it was to stay where I was. I should say something, step out. Call her name. But the words wouldn't come.
"Sylus?"
The way she said my name. God, the way she said my name, like it was something ordinary, like it wasn't the only word that still resonated with me. She stood in front of me in that dress, sequins catching the last of the studio light, that enormous white bow at her waist like the universe had giftwrapped something I didn't deserve. She looked at me with those confused, searching eyes, and I was.
Struck my mind, finding it hard to catch up on as if I was stunned to speak.
I had been too stunned since she walked out. I was just the last to admit it.
"What are you doing here?"
She stepped closer. Don't. I thought it with real desperation. Don't come closer, Ella. I'm holding on by a thread right now, and you are not helping.
She came closer.
That small furrow between her brows, the one that etched up when something felt wrong, the one I had memorized like other men memorized exits deepened as she studied my face. Unhurried. Unaware of the damage she was causing just by looking.
"Why is your face red?" She tilted her head. "Are you sick?"
Sick.
Yes. Chronically. Terminally. In a way no doctor would classify, and no cure existed for. Sick in the particular way that only she could make me feel, where my chest was too small for everything inside it, and my hands, these hands that had never trembled for anyone, wanted to reach out and just..
She reached out first, her fingers were cold.
They were always cold, her fingers delicate and cool against my skin, and the moment they touched my jaw, the noise in my head went completely silent. Like she pressed a hand over the mouth of every dark monster, snarling thing inside me, and it simply obeyed. All of it, still. Waiting.
I couldn't breathe.
And I was so far past caring. Her name felt like a sickness. It was a fever with no end, just an endless, rising heat that lived behind my sternum and answered only to her. Ella. Just thinking about her name was enough. Just knowing she was close enough that I could feel the warmth radiating from her skin through that dress I snapped.
There's no better word for it. No fancy way to describe what happened inside me in the split second before I moved. Every careful barrier I had built, every wall I had maintained, was gone. Not crumbled or slowly worn away. Just disappeared. Like they had never existed. Like the years of discipline, blood, and silence had looked at this girl with her cold fingers and confused eyes, and decided it was over.
I pulled her in. Hard. Right away. My hand gripped the fabric at her waist while the other cradled her jaw. She gasped, startled, her eyes widening as I kissed her. It was nothing like the careful kisses I had given her before. Not at all like the measured embraces I had allowed myself when I was still pretending I had limits. This was Rough and deep and completely unapologetic, the kind of kiss that doesn't leave any room for anything but this moment and you, the undeniable fact that I had held this back for so long, it had pressure behind it now, real pressure that bent things when it finally released.
For what felt like eternity, her heartbeat was loud and uneven, but then she melted. God. She melted, and that was it, the moment I realized I would never recover from her. She made a small sound against my mouth a soft moan of acceptance, and her body just folded into mine, as if she had been waiting for me to stop being so careful. Some part of her had known before I did that careful was never what either of us wanted.
My fingers tangled in her hair those soft curls, God, those curls pulling just enough to feel real, enough to feel like I was holding something I was terrified of losing and she arched slightly, and I swallowed the sound she made as if it were something I needed to survive.
Then her hands moved. Cold fingers slowly slid up the back of my neck, into my hair, and the sensation shot down my spine as something ignited. Shivers.... Shivers down my spine because of her hands. Because of these small, cold, electrifying hands that had touched my jaw moments ago out of concern and were now threading through my hair as if she had every right to as if she knew exactly what she was doing to me, as if she understood, on some deep level, that she had always had this power.
Her name pulsed in my chest like a lit match. Like a sentence, I kept starting and never finishing because I didn't have words big enough for what came after. I pulled back. Barely. Just enough. My forehead rested against hers, my breath uneven in a way I had no interest in hiding. I kept her there, both hands now, one still tangled in her hair, the other pressed flat against her back, as if letting go would remind her she could walk away. As if letting go would mean I had to start surviving this alone again.
She was breathing hard, those eyeliner-adorned eyes a bit dazed, cheeks flushed, lips tinted a bit messy and breathless as her fragrance wrapped around me like a quiet prayer I would kneel before too. Her fingers were still at my nape, still tangled, still there, and she hadn't moved away or created distance between us. She hadn't done the sensible thing I had half-expected and half-dreaded she just stayed. And I stayed with her. Eyes closed. Her warmth against my chest. The faint sounds of the studio somewhere far behind us, cameras, voices, a world that didn't have access to this and just her. Just this, overwhelming, quietly perfect fact of her in my arms.
Ella, I thought. Not just a name. Like an end. Like the last word in a sentence, I had been writing my entire life without realizing it.
"Ella. What have you done to me?"