The clock on the classroom wall struck ten.
Sunlight filtered through the tall windows, casting golden rays on the old wooden benches. A light breeze stirred the pale curtains, but the room felt heavy. Eliane stood by the blackboard, chalk in hand, her back to the class. The faint scrape of pens and murmurs filled the air. Boys whispered quietly, not bothering to hide their glances.
"She's so damn beautiful."
"She's always been.....look at her hands, her jawline...."
Eliane had heard it all before. Normally, she would've felt a flicker of satisfaction....of quiet, restrained pride that at least something in her life was worth admiring. But today, none of it registered. Her eyes were glassy, expression unreadable. Not boredom. Not anger. Just... nothing.
She kept glancing at her phone, lying face-down on the desk like a loaded gun. Every time it buzzed, she flinched. It had already vibrated twice that morning. Now, it buzzed again.
Bzzt.
The chalk slipped from her fingers and hit the floor with a soft clink.
Slowly, like someone looking at a corpse, she turned her head. Her heart sank. The screen lit up.
Matteo.
Across the city, warm steam drifted lazily above the surface of a marble bathtub. The bathroom was massive, walls paneled with rose-gold stone and glass shelves holding rows of designer oils and perfumes. A woman emerged from the water.....her figure elegant, hourglass-shaped. She stepped onto the heated floor, skin glistening, steam curling around her like smoke around fire.
She reached for a silk robe....deep crimson with black embroidered patterns....and wrapped it around herself. It barely reached her knees, revealing long legs that had graced international runways. She toweled her platinum-blonde hair loosely, then sat before a mirror and began to dry it with expert grace.
A soft knock. Her personal assistant stepped in. "Miss Annelise, you have an appointment with Noemie today."
Annelise turned, smiled gently, and pulled her assistant into a hug....one of those warm, brief ones that say thank you for remembering when I almost didn't. "Merci," she said in a soft French accent.
The assistant's phone buzzed.
Annelise's eyes caught the red snake on the wallpaper, coiled and gleaming. Something about it looked alive.
The car dropped Eliane at the entrance of the resort.
No. Not a resort. An empire.
Marble steps led into a sprawling building with fountains, hanging gardens, and mirrored windows that shimmered like water. It looked like paradise. But to Eliane, it felt like a stage...one she didn't belong on.
She hesitated at the entrance until a woman in a blazer approached her. "You're here to see Mr. Matteo?" she asked, and without waiting for a response, gestured. "This way."
They walked in silence. Chandeliers glimmered above, and art pieces she couldn't even name lined the walls. They entered a private lift. The woman pressed the button for the topmost floor.
Eliane's knees were trembling.
As the lift ascended, each second felt like a judgment.
He built all this? she thought. How did I never see this in him?
The doors dinged open.
Her phone buzzed.
Matteo:
"There's a dress beside the lift. Wear it."
Her head turned. There, on a mannequin beside the lift's golden door, hung a long, shimmering dress. Her fingers twitched. Her breath caught in her throat.
"I can't change out here," she texted back.
Matteo:
"There's a dressing room on your left."
The floor was silent.....eerily so. Vast like a ballroom, walls lined with glass and white curtains. No assistants, no guards. Just space.
Matteo sat alone at the far end, seated in a chair, in his personal room .
She hesitated, then stepped into the dressing room and locked the door.
The room was clean, plush, without mirrors. The first thing she did was scan every inch for hidden cameras. Nothing. No blinking lights. No glint of lenses. She double-checked. Triple-checked.
Finally, she turned to the package and opened it.
The dress unfolded like a whisper. Midnight black silk with silver specks, flowing like water. One leg slit high...dangerously high. The back? Entirely open, down to the waist. It was the kind of dress worn by supermodels in Milan or Paris. Beautiful. Powerful. Vulnerable.
Eliane touched the fabric and began to cry.
She looked into the mirror, her reflection sharp and cruel in its honesty.
"I did this to him," she murmured. "And now he's returning the favor."
Memories flashed.....of things she'd said, things she'd broken. Of how she'd tried to control him, how she'd left him when he started to rise without her. She thought she'd clipped his wings. But Matteo had grown fangs instead.
With slow fingers, she slipped into the dress.
It clung to her like a second skin. The slit kissed the curve of her thigh, teasing power and submission. The open back revealed the smooth line of her spine, framed by shadows. She looked breathtaking—dangerous and divine. A woman sculpted from defiance and regret.
She bit her lip, wiped her tears, and stepped out.
Not just into the room, but into her reckoning.