Elara sat quietly at the long, polished table, the light from the chandeliers glinting against her wine glass. Around her, laughter floated through the restaurant—soft, artificial, and heavy with pretense.
Across from her, Vivienne leaned back gracefully in her chair, her lips curved in a faint smile that didn't reach her eyes. Every word she spoke dripped with feigned warmth, each gesture carefully measured.
She forced a small smile, her gaze moving over the people she once called friends. Their laughter, their whispers, their fake concern—it was all the same.
Right then, a group of familiar people walk in . They were thir classmates back at school- college. Apparently, Vivienne invited them, and wants Elara to make Elara fork the money and pay.
And then she froze.
From the corner of her eye, she saw a familiar figure entering the restaurant. Her breath caught before she could stop it.
Rhea.
For a moment, the sounds around her faded—the laughter, the music, even the clatter of dishes. The sight of Rhea walking in felt like a rush of cold air against her skin.
Her oldest friend. The girl she had shared every secret with since kindergarten.
Rhea had always been fierce, the kind of child everyone feared to cross. But with Elara, she had always been protective, loyal to a fault. The two of them used to be inseparable—fighting bullies, getting in trouble, and laughing until their stomachs hurt.
But that friendship had died years ago.
Because of Vivienne.
Vivienne had whispered lies into her ears, painting Rhea as someone jealous, claiming she had a crush on Damon. And Elara—young, foolish, hopelessly in love—had believed her.
That was the first crack in their bond. The one that had never healed.
Now, Rhea stood just a few tables away, her expression calm as she laughed with a group of their former classmates. She didn't even glance in Elara's direction.
Elara's throat tightened. She would have welcomed anger. A glare. A cutting remark. Anything that showed she still mattered.
But indifference?
That was unbearable.
She swallowed hard, the burn of shame mixing with regret. She had hurt so many people in her past life—her family, her husband, her best friend. And now, sitting here, she could feel every ounce of that pain returning to her like punishment.
"Elara."
The voice snapped her out of her thoughts.
Damon.
He approached the table with his usual easy charm, sliding into the seat beside her. His suit was crisp, his hair styled perfectly, that same confident smirk playing on his lips—the same smile that had once made her heart flutter.
"Ara, love," he greeted, lowering his voice just enough for others to hear. "How have you been? I tried contacting you, but you disappeared. I missed you."
He said it softly, tenderly, as though they were still lovers.
Elara turned to look at him, her face blank. Her voice, when it came, was quiet but sharp. "I'm doing well."
That was all.
No warmth. No smile.
Inside, however, her blood boiled. The sound of his voice, the fake affection in his eyes—it made her sick.
She remembered the way he had played her back then. How he had smiled while betraying her. How easily she had believed him, how easily Vivienne had pulled her strings.
Around them, their classmates watched with curious, almost hungry eyes.
"Damon, don't blame Ara," Clara said, her tone half-sympathetic, half-mocking. "You know she's married now. I heard her husband's one of those controlling types—rich, older, possessive. Maybe he forbids her from meeting anyone."
"Elara, you should've told us earlier you were coming," Vivienne said sweetly, her tone carrying that familiar trace of mockery. "We'd have prepared a proper welcome for our long-lost princess."
Clara and Sasha giggled beside her. "Oh, come on, Viv. Don't tease her," Sasha said, her voice light but her eyes glinting. "She's probably too busy now—married and all. You know how rich men can be."
Clara added, "Exactly. I heard her husband doesn't even let her meet friends anymore."
Their laughter blended with the clinking of glasses, quiet but sharp enough for Elara to feel every word stab through the air.
Elara's fingers tightened around her glass. Her face remained calm—polite, composed—but deep inside, she could feel her chest tightening.
Vivienne's lips twitched. She reached forward, pretending to defend her. "Come on, don't say that. Elara's husband must trust her. After all, who wouldn't trust someone like her?"
Her tone was soft, almost kind—but the meaning behind it was clear.
The table chuckled. Vivienne's eyes gleamed with quiet amusement, and Elara's stomach turned.
She had lived this moment once before—in another life—and she remembered exactly what came next.
Sasha leaned forward, pretending to whisper. "Oh, I heard she married the mysterious owner of Valencrest Enterprises. The one nobody ever sees. Honestly, I pity her."
A few people nodded in fake concern, others smirked, exchanging looks full of envy and gossip.
Damon ignored them, his hand brushing casually over the table, dangerously close to hers. "You still look beautiful, Ara," he murmured, his voice low.
Elara's lips pressed into a tight line. She didn't pull away immediately, but her eyes lifted, meeting his with quiet steel.
"Thank you," she said coolly. "But I'd prefer if you didn't call me that."
For the first time, Damon hesitated. A flicker of surprise crossed his face, but it vanished just as quickly.
Vivienne, watching from across the table, hid her smirk behind her glass. She tilted her head, feigning innocence. "Oh, Damon, you and Ara were always so perfect together," she said sweetly. "It's such a shame things ended."
Elara's patience was wearing thin.
Her fingers brushed the rim of her glass, and she took a small sip of her drink—slow, deliberate. The liquid burned down her throat, grounding her for a moment.
Ara's face was calm, unshaken. But inside, a quiet amusement rose. So predictable. So insignificant.
She didn't flinch. She didn't react. She merely observed, cataloging every glance, every word, every hidden emotion. To the others, she seemed the same naive girl, overwhelmed by their words.
Vivienne felt a surge of relief. Good. She's acting exactly as I expected. She hasn't changed. She's still the same foolish, obedient girl. Her smile widened subtly as she leaned back, pretending to sip her drink. Perfect. Just like I thought. This will be easy.
She encouraged the classmates with practiced charm. "Please, don't be shy! Order whatever you like—let me take care of it. Enjoy yourselves." Her voice was warm, inviting, the picture of generosity. In truth, she was already spinning webs in her mind, plotting how Ara would pay for everyone's order and meals. She is plotting how to sweet talk Ara into paying for everybody's meal like she used to do.
Ara, however, saw through it all. The encouragement, the laughter, the faux kindness—it was nothing but noise. She didn't need to react. She didn't need to play along. They were irrelevant, and their attempts to unsettle her were futile.
But her eyes kept drifting—past Vivienne's mask, past the shallow laughter—to Rhea.
Rhea hadn't looked at her once. She was talking to someone at the other end of the table, her face bright, her laughter easy. Not the cold kind—it was real. And that hurt even more.
If this were before, Rhea would have stood up for her. She would have snapped at Vivienne, silenced Clara, defended her without hesitation.
But now… she didn't even see her.
Elara felt something crack quietly inside her.
Right then, she saw a figure walk in.
Someone stepped into the restaurant and took the elevator, a familiar silhouette catching her eye.
Her heart skipped.
She didn't move or speak. She just stared as the figure disappeared into the corridor, her pulse thudding in her ears.
Without a word, she raised her hand to call the waiter. "Bring me your strongest drink," she said quietly, her voice steady but cold. "Something that burns."
The waiter blinked, nodded quickly, and left.
Vivienne arched an eyebrow, her expression faintly amused. "Ara, are you sure? You never used to drink that kind of stuff."
Elara didn't answer.
When the drink arrived—a crystal glass filled with amber liquid—she took it in one hand, swirling it slowly. The sharp scent hit her immediately, but she didn't flinch.