POV: Elowen Hart

The back door of the hall did not close all the way.

I stood in the wet dark car park area, my bare feet on the cold ground, and I could still hear them inside. The music was still playing. People were still talking and merrying. It was supposed to be my party... the one that was supposed to be about my love and my forever, was still going on without me.

The worst of it? ... no one came out to look for me.

I pressed my hand harder against the torn part of my dress. The cold air kept touching my skin. I could feel the wetness of the rain on my arms, my shoulders, the parts of me that the dress could not cover anymore.

Through the small opening in the door, I could see them.

Livia was dancing with Julian in the middle of the room. Her thin arms were around his neck. Her head rested on his shoulder like it was made to fit there. The song playing was our song. The one Julian and I picked together two months ago when we were still pretending that this wedding would happen.

He held her waist and smiled down at her. He looked happy... really happy. The way he never looked at me before not even at the beginning of our relationship when I thought he loved me.

My chest felt so heavy like someone was sitting on it.

Then I heard my mother's sharp and clear voice through the door.

"I told her," my mother was saying. "How many times did I tell that girl to lose weight? How many times did I caution her to stop eating like a pig and maybe fast or do something that works. Did I not send her to that doctor to help? Did I not pay for those weightloss meal plans?"

My aunt said something I could not catch. Then my mother again...

"No, no. It is her own fault. Men do not stay with women who look like that, i dont know if she doesnt see herself in the mirror... she disgusts me. Look at Livia, she is the kind of woman every man fights for. Elowen was just a disgrace in human form, i dont even know why i gave birth to a deity like her.. anyway, she was the bast placeholder until the real owner that is way better came around."

I heard my mother say all this... my very own mother.

I wanted to walk back inside and scream at her. I wanted to ask her what kind of mother says this about her own daughter while her daughter is dying inside, while her daughter is outside with no shoes and a torn dress but I did not move. My legs would not carry me.

My uncle's voice came through next. Loud and rough from too much drink.

"Well, that was something," he said. "The boy has sense, I tell you. Who would marry that one when Livia Monroe is standing there? They cannot be compared, even a blind man can see the huge difference." He Laughed loudly.

I pushed myself away from the door, I could not listen to them talk about me like that anymore...it was too painful and unbearable to her.

I started walking, not like a had a particular direction or something but I was walking.

The ground was rough under my bare feet. Small stones bit into my soles, the road was wet and cold from the rain. I did not know where I was going. I just knew I could not stay there anymore, it's better to be anywhere than there.

The street was dark and most of the houses had their lights off. A dog barked somewhere. I pulled the torn dress around my body as best as I could, but it was no use. The cold was inside me now, it was not just the rain.

My feet carried me down one street to another. I passed a closed shop with metal shutters, a church with a dark sign outside and a bus stop with a broken light. The world felt empty... really empty, like I was the only person left in it.

I reached the bus shelter and stopped there.

It had a very small space, three walls of dirty glass, a bench that had seen better days. I sat down and pulled my knees up to my chest. The dress fell open around my legs, but I did not care at this point. Who was there to even see me? Who was left to look and judge me? What else is there to say or names to call me that I have not heard?

I sat there for a very long time. The rain had stopped, but the cold stayed. My feet were bleeding a little where the stones had cut me earlier. My toes were numb, I looked down at my body, at the way my stomach folded when I sat, at the thick thighs that had always made my mother frown and look away with disgust.

This is what they see, I thought. This is all they see.

My phone buzzed in my hand, I had forgotten I was still holding it.

A message from my mother came through.

You have embarrassed this family enough tonight, do not come home, I cannot look at you right now, stay wherever it is you are.

I stared at the words until my vision blurred. Do not come home, my own mother was telling me not to come home. On the night my life fell apart, she was worried about the family name and reputation not even about my feeling but the family name is more important than her own child... which i am starting to doubt if I am really is.

I waited for a message from my father but i got none from him instead I got something else... a notification from a video he had posted, a video of my humiliation.

The thumbnail was my face, my mouth open, my eyes wide and my dress tearing at the side. The words under it said: When your daughter thinks she can keep a man above her level. Watch till the end!

I did not open the video nor did i read the comments, I quietly deleted every social media app from my phone, one by one. From facebook to instagram straight to twitter. I deleted all of them.

Then I sat in the dark with my bare feet and my torn dress and my mother's words still burning on the screen.

I had no one to call, no best friend, no person who would leave their bed and come to get me. I had spent so many years making myself small for Julian that I had made myself disappear completely. Now I was a ghost, and ghosts have no one.

I pressed my face into my knees and stayed like that.

Then the lights came again, it was bright and white, cutting through the dark like knives. I lifted my head and saw the car, it was the same black car from before. The same long, dark shape. It was pulling up to the bus stop, slowly and quietly, like it had all the time in the world. The engine made a low soft and expensive sound. The kind of sound that tells you money is inside.

The windows were dark. I could not see through them but I knew who was inside. I knew those silver eyes were behind that glass, looking at me again.

I should have been afraid. A strange man in a black car, following me in the night, any woman with sense would run but I did not have the strength to run, I could barely stand on my own right now talk more of running.

And there was something else... a small sick part of me that did not want him to leave because when he looked at me, I felt like someone was looking at me atleast and I was not invisible.

The car stopped at the edge of the bus shelter but the engine kept running though. The window did not come down this time. He was just there watching me through the dark glass.

I stood up with my shaking legs, my torn dress fell open, and the cold air hit my bare skin. I did not try to cover myself. What was the point? He had already seen the worst of me. He had seen me crying beside a bin with my dress falling apart. There was nothing left to hide.

I stared at the dark window, I could not see his face, but I could feel him. The weight of his eyes on my body. The same slow, cold look he gave me in the car park.

"Who are you?" I inquired. My voice came out rough, low and broken. "And what do you want from me?"

I received no answer, the car just sat there... the engine humming. The rain starting again, light and cold on my skin.

"Why are you following me?" I said, louder this time. The anger was coming back, pushing through the pain. "You saw me crying from the party, you saw me running with no shoes and now you follow me here? What kind of person does that?"

I got nothing, just the dark glass and the quiet engine.

I walked toward the car, my feet hurt with every step, but I did not stop. I walked until I was close enough to touch the door. The paint was so black it seemed to drink the light.

"Say something," I said. My voice cracked. "If you are going to look at me like I am nothing, at least say it to my face, at least be man enough to tell me what you want."

For a long moment, nothing happened. The rain fell, the engine ran and the glass stayed dark.

Then the car began to move slowly, it pulled away from the bus stop and rolled down the empty street. The back lights glowed red in the dark.

I stood in the rain and watched it go.

"Coward," I whispered.

I did not know if I meant the man in the car, or Julian, or my father, or myself. Maybe I meant all of us.

The car disappeared around a corner and the street was empty again, the bus shelter light flickered and died.

I was back to being all alone again.

But I knew, deep in my bones, that it was not over. The man with the silver eyes had seen me twice now, i dont know if it was planned or not, he had stopped his car to look at me, he had waited while I shouted at his dark window.

That was not the behaviour of a man who did not care, it was more of a man that did not know what to do with what he was feeling and thinking whether to help or not.

I did not know his name neither did I know why he was there but something told me that he would come again... we will eventually cross part again and next time, I would be so ready for him.

POV: Eryx Voltaire

The car moved through the lonely and wet streets effortlessly.

I sat in the back, my tablet in my hand, looking at numbers that meant more money than most men would see in their lifetime. The screen gave off a cold blue light. Outside, the city was dark and quiet. It had rained earlier today, the roads were black and shiny under the street lamps.

My driver Aldric, did not speak or try to engage me on a conversation, he knew better not to. He had been with me for six years now, and in that time he had learned that I do not make small talks or inquire about each others family. His job is simple... drive me where i need to be whenever I need to be there. I did not care about how the weather was, whether it's good or bad, I pay him well to drive the car whenever and wherever i want and keep his mouth shut while at it.

We were passing through a part of the city I did not usually go to, on a normal you wouldnt see me at places like that... ceap event halls,faded signs, littered roads and Cars that cost less than my shoes. I had come this way because a property deal needed looking at, an old building I was thinking of buying and tearing down. I liked tearing things down, it always made sense after cleaning everything up.

"Slow down and stop somewhere around here," I said calmly to him.

Aldric did not ask why, he did as i asked and slowed the car. I had seen something through the window of a low building with bright lights. A party of some sort. People dressed in their best, which does not always turn out very good and their was a woman there...

She stood beside a thin man in the middle of the room. Her dress was green. Soft green, like fresh leaves. It wrapped around her body and showed every of her curve. She was build differently... thick at the waist, round at the hips, with arms that looked soft and warm. She held a glass in her hand, and even from here I could see that her fingers were shaking.

The thin man was talking and the whole room was quiet. Then the doors opened and another woman walked in. This one was thin like a cane. She wore a red dress with a sharp face. She walked up to the man and kissed him, and the room burst into noise.

But I was not looking at the thin woman, my eyes keep going to the lady in green, she looks captivating i must say but at the same time sad.

Her face broke slowly, like watching an ice crack. Her mouth opened a little, her eyes went wide and wet. She stepped back, and the thin man dropped her hand like it was a dirty rag. The thin woman said something to her, and the room laughed.

I felt my jaw tighten and I ddnt know why... I know it was not pity. I did not feel pity, pity was a useless thing. What I felt was disgust at the small, cheap cruelty of these people. A room full of vultures picking at one soft woman because they could, because she was standing there in a green dress that cost her probably everything, and they had decided she was not good enough.

But there was something else about her, something about the way her dress pulled across her hips. The way her body shook when she tried not to cry. The softness of her, the fullness of her. Something in me stirred, something dark and hungry but i pushed it down.

"Drive," I said.

Aldric moved the car forward. We turned into the car park beside the hall. I told myself I wanted to see the property next door, that was a lie. I wanted to see her again.

She came out the back door running with no shoes. Her feet slapped on the wet ground. Her dress was torn at the side, and I could see the bare skin of her waist, her soft, dimpled, succulent skin. The kind of skin that would make any sane man go insane.

She stopped beside a large rubbish bin and bent over. Her shoulders shook like she was crying, but she made no sound. Just hot tears falling on the torn silk. Her hand pressed against the rip, trying to hold herself together. The green fabric was dark with rain and sweat and shame.

"Stop the car," I said.

Aldric stopped. I rolled down my window. The cold air came in. It smelled of rain and rotting flowers and the cheap fish they must have served inside.

She looked up.

Her eyes were gold. Not brown. Gold. Like the colour of honey held up to the light. They were swollen from crying, but she did not look away. She looked right at me, and something in my chest tightened like a fist.

I let her look. I let her see me. The dark car. The expensive suit. The silver eyes that gave nothing back. I looked at her torn dress, her bare feet, the curve of her hip pushing through the ripped seam. I looked at her the way I looked at things I was thinking of buying. Cold. Measuring. Without feeling.

Then I rolled the window up.

"Go," I said.

The car pulled away. I did not look back. But I could still see her in my mind. The gold eyes. The soft body. The way she stood there shaking, holding herself together with one hand, and still did not look away from me.

That night, in my penthouse, I could not think.

I poured a whiskey. The glass was heavy and cold. I stood at the window and looked down at the city lights. Everything below me was small. Everything was something I could buy or break or ignore.

But not her. Not the woman in the green dress.

My mother's voice came back to me. It always came back in the quiet moments. "Emotion is a chain, Eryx. Anyone who holds it owns you. Never let them see what you feel. Never let them know what you want."

Odessa Voltaire had taught me that lesson with her silk gloves and her cold smile. She had raised me in a house of marble and silence. Love was weakness. Want was a door you left open for someone to walk through and take everything.

I had never been weak. I had never left the door open.

So why could I not stop seeing that woman's face?

I drank the whiskey. It burned going down. I poured another. The ice made a small sound against the glass. I thought of the tear in her dress. The bare skin. The way her stomach curved softly over the waistband of her dress. The way her thighs pressed together when she ran.

I wanted her.

The thought came like a slap. I did not want soft things. I wanted deals. Buildings. Numbers that added up. Women were for one night and then gone. I did not keep them. I did not think about them after.

But this one. This soft, crying, barefoot woman with nothing to her name. She had done something to me. And I hated her for it.

I finished the second whiskey. Then a third. It did not help. The image was still there, burned into the back of my eyes.

I went to bed angry. Angry at her for making me feel. Angry at myself for letting it happen. Angry at the thin man and the thin woman and the whole cheap, cruel room for putting her in my path.

I told myself it would pass. It always passed.

It did not pass.

Three weeks later, I was in my office.

The room was big and cold, all glass and dark wood. The windows looked out over the city. My desk was clean. Everything in its place. I liked things in their place.

Cleo, the woman in charge of hiring, stood in front of my desk with a tablet in her hand. She was nervous. People were always nervous around me. That was how I liked it.

"The shortlist for the executive secretary position, Mr. Voltaire," she said. "I have five candidates. All of them are very good."

I did not look up from my screen. "I do not need five. Give me the best one."

Cleo cleared her throat. "There is one who is... unusual. Her name is Elowen Hart. She has very good experience. Almost too much for this job. She worked at a small law office before, but she has been out of work for three weeks. Her references are strong."

The name meant nothing to me. I had not asked for the crying woman's name. I had not tried to find her.

"She seems solid," Cleo went on. "Quiet. Not the kind of person we usually hire. She is a bit... soft-spoken."

Soft.

The word caught me. I looked up. Cleo took a small step back. I held out my hand. "The file."

She gave me the tablet. I looked at the photo.

It was her.

The same gold eyes. The same round face. The same softness that had been keeping me awake for three weeks. She was wearing a plain shirt in the photo, her hair pulled back, a small smile on her lips. A professional smile. But I had seen her without the smile. I had seen her broken open and bare.

Something moved in my chest. I did not let it show on my face.

I handed the tablet back.

"Hire her," I said.

Cleo blinked. "May I ask why, sir? There are other candidates with more-"

"No," I said. My voice was flat. Cold. Final. "You may not ask. She starts Monday."

Cleo nodded quickly and left the room. The door closed with a soft click.

I stood and walked to the window. The city lay below me, grey and busy and full of small people with small lives. Somewhere out there, the woman in the green dress was probably sitting in a cheap apartment, not knowing that her life had just changed.

Not knowing that she was about to walk into my world.

I did not know why I had hired her. I told myself it was because she was qualified. Because the other candidates were not as good. That was a lie. It was not her qualifications I was thinking about.

I was thinking about the torn dress. The bare skin. The gold eyes that did not look away.

I wanted to see her again. I wanted to see if she would flinch when she saw me. If she would remember the man in the black car who had looked at her like she was nothing.

A small, cold smile touched my lips.

She would remember. And when she walked through my door on Monday, she would understand that the man in the car was not just a stranger passing by.

He was her new boss.

And I was not done with her. Not even close.