134

Yalda stood in front of the mirror again.

Her hands trembled slightly as she smoothed down the deep blue dress that clung to her like sin. The slit ran scandalously high, and the neckline dipped just enough to turn heads, but none of it mattered. Not really. Not when her stomach was twisted into knots and her mind was consumed with the same thought that had haunted her for days.

Would he look at her tonight?

Would Alexander finally break?

Ioannis appeared behind her in the mirror, adjusting the cuff of his shirt. His eyes met hers through the glass, and he gave her a look; half warning, half worry.

“You don’t have to go,” he said gently, stepping closer. “We can stay in. Order dinner. Watch something. You can catch your breath.”

Yalda’s throat felt tight. “I need to go.”

He didn’t argue further. He just nodded, offering her his arm like always. Loyal. Steady. Constant. Even as she unraveled piece by piece. He was what she needed even when she thought she needed something toxic, he was the quiet strength and support that would keep her from losing her mind.

The dining hall tonight was darker than usual. Candles flickered across polished tables. Shadows moved like whispers across the walls. The atmosphere hummed with an intimacy that wasn’t quite appropriate for such a formal event.

They took a seat at a tucked-away table near the corner of the room. It was private, low-lit. The kind of table designed for secrets.

Yalda's heart begun pounding heavily on entering the hall, and thoughts began spiralling in her mind; why had she come tonight? Hadn't she learned? Hadn't she been humiliated enough? 

But she was broken and obsessed, she couldn't help herself. She was on the verge of losing her mind, she was being toxic and the toxicity was once again killing her, but then, like Alexander had said, she couldn't live without toxicity.

Her heart beat erratically in her chest, wild and traitorous.

Ioannis tried his best to keep her attention, talking softly, brushing her arm with his fingers as he refilled her wine glass. He asked about her cooking lesson, if she would enroll in an online class, what recipe she would try out next, anything that might tether her back to him. She smiled when appropriate. Nodded. But her mind drifted like smoke in a storm.

“You’re not here with me,” he said finally, voice low. “You’re still chasing a ghost."

“I’m sorry,” she whispered, eyes downcast. Truly, she was ashamed of herself now, she was ashamed of how she'd been treating Ioannis but she truly couldn't help herself at this point.

A pause. Then, “Do you want to be here with me, Yalda?”

Her gaze flickered up to his, surprised by the question. He wasn’t angry. Just... defeated.

“I want to feel normal,” she replied truthfully. “I want to stop aching every time I breathe.”

Ioannis nodded. He reached for her hand beneath the table, laced their fingers together.

"Then allow me to distract you.”

She didn’t answer. She didn't know how to.

As the evening wore on, music played softly in the background and waiters floated between tables like ghosts. Conversations around them blurred, blending into one continuous murmur. Yet Yalda’s world narrowed to Ioannis’s hand which was still holding hers, still anchored to her despite everything.

Then he let go of her hand. Only to trail his fingers slowly down her thigh.

Her breath faltered slightly as the familiarity of his touch sent bolts of pleasure to her core.

They were tucked away. Hidden from most eyes. To everyone else, they were just another couple whispering intimately in the dark.

But Ioannis’s touch grew bolder, more purposeful.

His hand slipped beneath the slit of her dress with deliberate ease, fingertips skimming over her thigh slowly. The heat of his touch bloomed against her skin, spreading slowly, relentlessly. She inhaled sharply, her muscles tightening, thighs drawing together on instinct but it was too late. He was already there.

The soft rustle of fabric, the veil of the tablecloth concealed the truth of what was happening. But Yalda felt every second of it. She felt the slow, coaxing glide of his fingers up to the delicate lace of her panties. Then past them.

Her breath hitched. Her lips parted, but no sound made it out.

He stroked her gently at first, the pad of his finger gliding through her folds, finding her already slick. She cursed herself for how easily her body responded, how her hips tilted forward, aching for more.

His touch became more assured, circling her clit in slow, deliberate strokes that made her head swim. There was no rush in him, only a devastating patience. 

Yalda’s hands gripped the edge of the table, knuckles white. Her pulse fluttered wildly in her throat, her breath stuttering with each pass of his fingers.

And then she looked up, a mistake on her path because I have was met with a pair of stormy greys.

Alexander.

Seated just across the room.

He was a portrait of poise; elegant in his dark suit, posture immaculate. But his eyes weren’t on the person beside him. They were on her.

Their gazes locked like a magnetic force. She saw the knowing look in his eyes, the quiet fury restrained behind unreadable eyes. He knew, he knew exactly what was happening beneath the pristine white tablecloth. He knew from the flush on her cheeks, the tremble in her shoulders, the way her breath came in shallow gasps.

And yet... he didn’t react. There was no jealousy. No scowl. No anger. Only silence.

Then he stood. Graceful. Cold. He turned and walked out. The room didn’t shake, but something inside her did. Her heart seized painfully in her chest, a dull ache spreading through her ribcage like smoke.

Ioannis leaned in, his mouth brushing her ear, voice like warm velvet. “Eyes on me,” he murmured. “Let me remind you what it’s like to be wanted.”

His words were almost humiliating but they made her moan quietly. Did she enjoy being humiliated so much?

His fingers pressed more firmly now, slipping between her folds, slick and warm. She was drenched for him, her body betraying every protest her mind screamed, this wasn't the right place for this, but still. One finger slid inside her, slow and sure, then another, it stretched her, filled her. Curling just right.

Her thighs quivered.

She wanted to cry. She wanted to sob. Instead, she moaned, a quiet and broken sound which was just as broken as her soul, it barely sounded, but it spilled from her like confession.

Ioannis moved inside her with aching precision, each thrust of his fingers purposeful, building her slowly toward that edge her body was aching for. Her body responded with a hunger that humiliated her.

Her cheeks burned.

She should’ve been thinking about him, abbout Ioannis and his steady touch. But it was Alexander’s retreat she couldn’t forget. Alexander’s silence that made her crave louder, deeper affirmation.

Her breath came fast, her chest rising and falling like a trapped thing. She was soaked now, her slick heat coated his fingers, the ache in her core throbbing in time with her heartbeat.

“I can feel how much you need this,” Ioannis whispered, dragging his lips down her neck, slow and reverent. “Don’t hold it back.”

She shattered before she could stop herself.

Her orgasm rolled through her like a silent scream, stealing her breath, splintering her heart. Her muscles clenched around his fingers as her body bowed toward the table. The pleasure was sharp and raw, but an echo of the grief still lodged in her chest.

"That's it, there you go." Ioannis soothed gently as his fingers curled even more inside her. "Feel everything."

Tears gathered in her eyes, unbidden, not because of Ioannis. But because Alexander had looked at her once again and had walked away without caring that another man had his fingers inside her.

Because even in her highest moment of release, she was still his. And that cruel truth unraveled her more than anything else ever could.