The main kitchen was empty as Alexia entered, wondering where everyone was, but dismissed it because it was Saturday, her first at the estate.
She opened the refrigerator, the cool air brushing her face. Last night’s chaos lingered—hours lost in bold strokes and clashing colors.
She went for eggs and milk, searching for something to carry them in, with milk in one hand and two eggs teetering in the other.
“Looking for this?” said Elliot.
Alexia turned to find him standing five feet away, holding a container in hand.
“I needed eggs and milk,” she replied. “Didn’t get up in time for breakfast, so I thought I’d make my own.”
He took a few steps closer and handed her the container. “Here you go.”
“Thanks,” she said without looking at him.
As she turned toward the hallway, his words followed her. “Do you have a moment?”
“What for?”
“About last night—”
“I’d rather not talk about it,” she cut him off. “I have to eat and get back to work.”
Elliot stood motionless as Alexia disappeared down the hall. He’d wanted to apologize—needed to—but the words felt worthless. She wouldn’t believe him.
Last night he played on a loop in his head: the tension, the misunderstanding, the distance he hadn’t meant to create but somehow always did.
I had no choice, but the truth felt thinner every time he repeated it. Alexia’s mistrust had become a mirror of his own regrets, reflecting choices he couldn’t undo.
Watching her walk away, he saw more than anger; he saw the walls he’d built between them, brick by painful brick. And for the first time in years, Elliot wasn’t sure how to tear them down.
The warm glow of the vanity lights reflected off the silver clip purse sitting on Alexia’s dresser. She adjusted her crimson top, its soft fabric clinging perfectly to her frame. Her dark auburn hair framed her face in loose waves. Green eyes stared back critically as she debated earrings—bold hoops or delicate studs. The studs won.
Her phone buzzed. Myra.
“Hey, I’m almost ready,” said Alexia, holding a pair of silver heels in her hand.
“Don’t forget, you’re picking me up at eight,” Myra said, her tone playful. “Reservations at 8:30, and then it’s all heels and dancing.”
Alexia laughed, sliding one heel on. “Don’t worry, I haven’t forgotten. You promised to wear heels, so I’m holding you to it.”
“I am! Emerald green dress and all. What about you?”
“Black pant-skirt combo, crimson top. You’ll see. We’re going to turn some heads.”
“Hot and dangerous,” Myra teased. “We might catch someone’s eye tonight.”
“Or scare them off.” They both laughed before Myra hung up.
Moments later, a soft knock sounded at the door. Alexia opened it to find Anna standing there, holding a small tray with a carton of eggs and milk.
“Mr. Cummings wanted to make sure you had these,” Anna said, her eyes widening slightly as she admired Alexia’s outfit. “Wow, you look gorgeous! Where are you going?”
Alexia smiled faintly, slipping the milk into the fridge. “Out to eat and dance. Back late.”
Anna grinned. “Have a great time!”
As the door clicked shut, Alexia grabbed her silver clutch and headed for the door.
The low rumble of engines and the glimmer of headlights lit the driveway as Alexia pulled up to Eclat, her Mercedes slipping smoothly into the valet line. Cascading greenery framed the restaurant’s entrance. Myra sat beside her, adjusting her green dress.
“Remind me why I agreed to heels,” Myra teased as the valet opened her door.
“Because you promised,” Alexia quipped, stepping out in her silver heels with practiced ease.
The valet handed Alexia a small ticket. “Enjoy your evening, ladies.”
“We will,” said Myra.
Inside, pendant lights glowed over rich cherrywood tables and velvet chairs.
While they were seated, a waiter promptly appeared, handed them menus, and poured water into sparkling crystal glasses.
“You’re still set on the club after this?” Myra asked, glancing at the menu.
“I promised, didn’t I? Dinner, then dancing.” Alexia glanced up. “Your dress deserves the spotlight.”
“True,” Myra said, grinning. “We’ll turn heads.”
As they ordered, the conversation turned naturally to the past few months. Myra leaned forward, her expression softening. “Why didn’t you call me, Alexia? You know you could’ve stayed with me until you got back on your feet.”
“I wish I had. But my pride got in the way. And honestly, I didn’t want you to see how bad things had gotten.”
“But Elliot shows up? Right when you’re at your lowest?” asked Myra. “You really think that’s a coincidence?”
Alexia sighed. “I don’t. I know he had something to do with the exhibits being canceled, no matter what he said. He just... swooped in, like always.”
“You should’ve asked me for help. I could’ve paid your rent, or you could’ve moved in with me. We’d have figured it out.”
“I wasn’t thinking straight,” Alexia admitted. “And well, now I’m under a contract.”
Before Myra could reply, Alexia noticed Elliot and Edward walking into the restaurant. Both were impeccably dressed, exuding confidence.
“Unbelievable,” Alexia muttered.
“What?” Myra turned, her expression shifting to curiosity. “Oh. Is that Edward with him?”
“You know him?”
“Of course. Elliot introduced us years ago. Edward’s... different.” Myra’s gaze stayed on Edward, who caught sight of them and nudged Elliot toward their table.
Alexia gritted her teeth as they approached. Elliot’s calm, unreadable expression met hers, while Edward’s easy smile was already aimed at Myra.
“Ladies,” Edward greeted smoothly. “What a pleasant surprise.”
Elliot nodded slightly, “Alexia. Myra.”
“This is unexpected,” said Alexia.
Edward chuckled. “We were in the area. Elliot suggested we grab a bite. Lucky us.”
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Myra smiled, her green eyes twinkling. “Well, lucky us, too. Edward, still charming as ever.”
Elliot at Alexia. “I didn’t expect to see you here.”
“Neither did I.”
Edward gestured toward the menu. “Don’t let us interrupt. Maybe we’ll see you at the club next door later?”
“Aurora Noir?”
“That’s the one,” Edward said with a grin. “First round’s on me.”
Alexia didn’t respond, but Myra smiled. As the men walked to their table, Alexia exhaled sharply.
“You know they’re coming to the club.”
“Let’s just get through dinner.” Alexia replied, picking up her menu, her grip a little too tight.
“She’s beautiful,” Edward said again, more certain now. “If that’s who she really is... I’d be lucky.”
Elliot turned to him; his words were deliberate. “Then don’t hesitate. If she’s what you want, do what you need to. And don’t lose her.”
“What about you?”
Elliot exhaled. “This time, I won’t let Alexia slip through my hands. But it has to be on her terms. Where she wants to be... with me.”
“I hope she is who she appears to be.”
“You really are...”
“Attracted to her.”
“Yes. I’ve never seen you this way before,” said Elliot.
“And you, Elliot, don’t let anyone or anything mess you up this time. Alexia’s special,” said Edward.
“I know.”
Alexia and Myra finished their exquisite dinner. Across the room was a door adjoined to the Aurora Night Club next door.
“Talk about convenience,” said Myra.
“Yes, this side entrance leads straight into Aurora Noir Club,” said Alexia.
“Don’t you have to have a membership?”
“Yes, and I have a lifetime that Elliott gave me five years ago. We came here often. Had great times here.”
“What I like is the dance floor is on the bottom floor and on the second floor there are sitting areas and a balcony with sitting areas. You’ll see. Get ready to be impressed.”
“Lead on.”
They walked up to the doorman at the entrance, and Alexia presented her membership card. He granted them entrance.
As they walked into the club, Alexia glanced at Myra to see her reaction.
“This is... is...”
“You can close your mouth now.”
Inside, the dance floor shimmered under chandeliers, the beat pulling bodies into motion. Myra was already grinning, her emerald dress catching the light as she swayed her hips toward the bar. Alexia followed more cautiously, her crimson top drawing its own share of attention.
“Two glasses of red,” Myra said over her shoulder, motioning to the bartender. She leaned in toward Alexia, her voice barely audible over the music. “We’ll need this before we hit the floor.”
Alexia chuckled, taking the glass Myra handed her. “You always know how to set the tone.”
“That’s why you love me,” Myra teased, tipping her glass with a wink.
As the first sip warmed her throat, Alexia scanned the room. The music, lights, and the people created a lively, uplifting atmosphere, bringing it to life.
She noticed men’s eyes lingering just a beat too long as they passed over her and Myra as they slowly crossed the room to the other side. It was nothing new, but tonight, she felt more exposed, as though someone in the crowd was watching too closely.
Her suspicion proved right. From across the room, near the bar, Elliot’s gaze caught hers. Edward stood beside him, laughing at something Elliot hadn’t heard. His focus was singular, tracing the curve of Alexia’s movements as she shifted beside Myra.
“You’re staring,” Edward said, his tone teasing but measured. “Not subtle.”
“Wasn’t trying to be,” Elliot replied flatly, lifting his drink.
Edward glanced at the dance floor, where Myra had already stepped forward, her hand extended toward Alexia. “And I’m not wasting this opportunity.”
He moved before Elliot could respond, cutting through the crowd with an ease that made heads turn. Myra noticed him instantly, her grin widening.
“Myra Nichols,” he said smoothly, bowing slightly in mock formality. “May I have this dance?”
“Edward Aleman,” said Myra with a slight laugh. “Well, how can I say no to that?”
Alexia watched as they disappeared into the throng of dancers, their chemistry clear even from a distance. Myra’s emerald dress sparkled under the club’s shifting lights, and Edward’s confident movements matched her rhythm effortlessly.
Left alone at the edge of the floor, Alexia swirled her glass absently, the music dulling her thoughts until a familiar voice cut through.
“Care for a dance?” Elliot stood in front of her. Something unreadable passed over his face—an attempt at vulnerability, perhaps.
Alexia’s first instinct was to refuse. But her hesitation betrayed her, and she found herself setting her glass down. “One.”
Elliot extended his hand, and she took it reluctantly. The warmth of his touch startled her, but she didn’t pull away. The music shifted to something slower, more intimate, and the room seemed to fade as they moved to the floor.
“When did you start dancing? You rarely did before.”
“I don’t, usually,” he admitted, his voice low. “But I’d make exceptions for you.”
“Don’t read too much into this.”
“Noted,” he replied, his grip light, respectful.
They swayed in tense silence, the words between them unspoken but deafening. Alexia’s green eyes met his blue eyes briefly before darting away. Whatever he was looking for, she wasn’t ready to give.
As the song neared its end, Alexia stepped back, her voice steady but clipped. “That’s enough.”
Elliot nodded, releasing her hand. “Thank you,” he whispered, his sincerity disarming.
She turned away, retreating to the bar. Elliot watched her leave, the distance between them feeling heavier than before.
Myra and Edward were still on the dance floor, laughter spilling between them. Alexia took a long sip of her wine, the weight of Elliot’s presence still lingering in her chest.
“Do you want to call it a night, or...” Edward’s voice trailed off.
“Not yet,” Myra replied, her emerald dress shimmering in the dim light. “This has been fun, and honestly, I’d rather keep it going.”
“I know a place—quiet, upscale, and perfect for talking. Or we could grab a drink at an after-hours lounge nearby.”
“Sounds perfect,” Myra said, glancing toward Alexia. “Let me check with her first.”
Myra approached Alexia at the bar, breaking her train of thought.
“Hey, I’m leaving with Edward.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yeah,” Myra said with a reassuring grin. “He’s a good guy, you know that. I’ll text you when I get there, promise.”
Alexia hesitated, then smiled faintly. “Alright. Be safe, Myra.”
“I will.” Myra hugged her quickly before turning back to Edward, who waited patiently by the door.
“Shall we?” asked Edward, extending his arm.
“We shall,” Myra replied, laughing lightly as they stepped out into the warm night air.
The night was quieter now as Alexia walked out of the club. The warm air carried faint laughter and music from inside.
“Can we talk?”
Alexia turned to face him. He seemed different, as if he knew one wrong move could send her walking away.
“I don’t see what’s left to say.”
“There’s plenty,” said Elliot. “But I know you don’t want to hear all of it right now.”
“Then why bother?”
“Because I care.”
“Caring doesn’t fix anything.”
“It doesn’t,” he admitted. “But it’s a start. Look, I’ve made mistakes—too many to count. But I’m not here to control you, Alexia. I just want to be... part of your life.”
“That’s easy to say now.”
“I know it is... and... I don’t expect you to believe me right away. But I’m not giving up on this. On us.”
Alexia let out a quiet breath. “You think there’s still an ‘us’?”
“There could be,” he said, neither speaking for what felt like an eternity.
Finally, Alexia shook her head. “You don’t make this easy, do you?”
“I’ve never been good at easy,” Elliot replied with a faint smile of his own.
Alexia took a step back toward the door. “Goodnight, Elliot.”
“Goodnight, Alexia,” he said, leaving something unspoken.
As she disappeared into the club, Elliot stood there alone. He’d made progress—a small crack in the wall she’d built around herself. But he knew this was just the beginning.
Elliot stepped out into the crisp night air, the club’s music fading as the door swung shut behind him. Jonathan was waiting in the sedan.
“Home,” said Elliot.
Jonathan opened the door; Elliot stepped into the back seat, and removed his phone from his pocket. He looked at the screen for a moment before he pressed the call button.
“Hello,” said Elliot. He glanced back at the club. “She’s still in the club... stay and follow her back to the estate. I’ll call you tomorrow.”
Ending the call, he could still feel her in his arms, the brief connection they’d shared on the dance floor after five long years. Her touch had been restrained, her words measured, but they’d cut through him like a blade. “Don’t read too much into this.”
He hadn’t imagined the anger in her eyes. A crack in the wall she’d built between them.
This time, I won’t fail.
Alexia sat on a stool in her studio. On the easel across from her sat the beginnings of a new painting—bold crimson and black that seemed to bleed into one another with splashes of blue representing moments.
She reached for her phone.
“Myra.”
“Morning! Didn’t expect to hear from you this early.”
“Wanted to check on you. How was last night?”
“Edward’s great—funny, kind, even insightful. It was nice to feel... normal again.”
“You deserve that. A night where you don’t have to think about anything else.”
“What about you? Elliot didn’t follow you out of the club, did he?”
“No. I stayed a little longer inside on purpose.”
“Alexia—”
“I’m fine.”
Myra didn’t press further. “Call me later, okay?”
“I will.”
Ending the call, Alexia turned back to the easel. The crimson and black intertwined together like unspoken thoughts she couldn’t yet name. She stared at it for a moment longer before picking up her brush.
Elliot walked into Alexia’s studio without announcing himself. The space was alive with her energy—unfinished paintings leaning against the walls, brushes and tools scattered on every surface. She stood at her easel, her back to him, her paint-smeared jeans and loose shirt a contrast to the vibrant strokes on the canvas before her.
“I thought you’d be further along,” said Elliot.
“It’s been two days. You’ll have to wait like everyone else.”
He moved closer, his eyes landing on the HATE painting. Next to it was another painting—one he hadn’t seen before. It had the same chaotic energy, but there was a shift in tone.
“These aren’t part of the contract,” said Elliot.
“They’re not. They’re personal.”
He studied the raw strokes of crimson and black, noticing splashes of blue that seemed to cut through the chaos.
“A series?”
“Five pieces.”
“When they’re done, you should consider showing them. A small exhibition, maybe.”
“I’ll think about it.”
“You should, they’re raw.”
"Alexia... dinner tonight?”
“Casual. Here at 8.”
“I’ll have Marcella prepare something nice.”
“Fine.”
Elliot stayed for just a moment longer, gazing between the "HATE" painting and the woman standing before it. Then, without another word, he turned and left the studio.