The Revenge Affair

Elira Monroe stepped out of the luxury mall, the automatic glass doors whispering shut behind her as the late afternoon sun dipped low over the skyline. A stack of branded shopping bags swayed from her left hand-Gucci, Cartier, Tom Ford-all carefully chosen for one man. In her right hand, her phone was pressed to her ear as her older sister's voice poured through the speaker like boiling oil.

"Elira, I'm telling you, break up with Jason already! That boy does not deserve you!"

Elira rolled her eyes but couldn't hide the slight curve tugging at the corners of her lips. "Big sis, take a chill pill," she said with a light laugh as she crossed the parking lot to her sleek, midnight blue BMW i8. "That's what you always say. You still see me as some helpless teenager, but I'm twenty-three, not thirteen. Besides, Jason promised to wait until our wedding night. That means something."

"That boy's promises mean jack shit," Sabrina growled. "God, Elira. I know you're in love, but I didn't realize you were also dumb."

Elira stiffened, her hand frozen on the door handle.

"Excuse me?"

"I said what I said," Sabrina snapped. "You're ignoring every damn red flag like they're rose petals. Jason flirts with every woman with a pulse! He's charming, I'll give him that-but so was his Dad, remember? And you know how that ended. His father-Malcolm-impregnated a girl younger than Jason when he was younger than your present age, and guess what? Jason is walking the same damn path!"

Elira tried to laugh it off as she tossed the gift bags into the front passenger seat. "Jason's just...friendly," she muttered. "He likes people. That's not a crime."

Sabrina groaned like she was about to burst a blood vessel. "Friendly? You call him smiling with his teeth at your friends and texting flirty emojis at 2AM being friendly? Girl, if a man looks like a player, acts like a player, and talks like a damn player-he's a player!"

Sliding into the driver's seat, Elira slammed the door and started the engine. The quiet hum of the car was a poor distraction from the storm building in her chest. "You know what, Sabrina?" she bit out. "I appreciate you trying to protect me. I really do. But can you just focus on your own family for once and let me deal with mine?"

"Elira-"

"No!" Her voice cracked, louder than intended. "Whatever happens between Jason and me is my business. He said he'd propose soon. We've been together for six years. SIX! Don't act like he's some stranger I just met on the street. You'll be at our engagement party, wearing that smug little face while I stand there glowing because the man you've been demonizing actually loves me."

"Elira-"

But she didn't give her sister the chance to finish. Her thumb jabbed the red button and the call disconnected. She tossed her phone to the seat beside her like it burned. "Damn it!"

Her chest rose and fell with quick, angry breaths. The last thing she wanted was to yell at her sister. Sabrina had been there through everything-school bullies, heartbreaks, college chaos-but she had no right to keep judging Jason. Elira sighed, fingers gripping the steering wheel until her knuckles turned pale. She was literally both her father and mother.

"I'll apologize later," she whispered to herself. "She's just worried, that's all." With that, she ignited the car and drove off.

--

The drive to Jason's penthouse was a smooth one. As traffic melted around her, memories of him filled her mind like blooming wildflowers.

He used to wait for her outside her high school gates, even when it rained.

He gave her his varsity jacket even though it meant getting detention for dress code.

They pulled all-nighters studying together, then held each other until sleep claimed them.

He cried at her graduation. She had never seen him cry before.

Today was special-his birthday and their six-year anniversary. She had gone all out: rare cologne he mentioned once in passing, a handwritten letter, and a bracelet engraved with "Always yours, Elira."

The car slowed to a stop in front of the towering Vale Residences. The building shimmered in the sunset, all glass and steel, like a crown for the privileged. She adjusted her hair in the mirror-soft waves pinned to one side-and reapplied a dab of gloss. She looked radiant. Confident. In love.

She gathered her bags, stepped out of the car, and walked toward the main entrance. The fingerprint scanner blinked green under her touch.

The door slid open.

It was quiet. Too quiet.

No butler. No staff. Not even the faint clinking of dishes or footsteps echoing through the marble halls. "Maybe he'd given everyone the evening off for privacy?" She thought as she kicked off her heels and slipped into her purple fluffy slippers-the ones he always teased her about. "My little grape puff," he called her.

Heart fluttering, she walked upstairs, gift bags swaying at her side.

Then she heard it.

A voice.

High-pitched. Familiar.

"When are you going to leave her, Jace? I hate when you spend time with her instead of me."

Elira froze. The walls spun.

No. No, she must've imagined it. Her head was playing tricks on her. Her sister's warning still echoed in her ears.

She crept forward, her breath caught somewhere between her ribs.

And then-

Jason's voice, moaning.

"Why would you say her name while I'm inside you, Talia? That bitch doesn't exist right now."

Elira's body went ice-cold.

Her fingers slipped from the gift bag handles. The packages hit the floor with a rustle that might as well have been a gunshot.

She didn't move.

Her best friend. Her boyfriend. Her entire world. All of it was crashing down on the other side of that door. She could hear them-every disgusting sound, every fake promise, every lie she had swallowed for years.

Talia giggled. "You like it when I get jealous. Admit it."

Jason groaned. "Yeah? What if I told her you were the one I wanted all along? She wouldn't give me the shares to her company."

"w- what?" Elira took a step back, "no- no..." her voice trailed off in disbelief.

"If you are so much worried about her not giving you the shares, you can simply force her. The fool is so much in love with you." Talia moaned.

Tears trickled down Elira's face as their words replayed in her head. "My shares..."

The hallway tilted beneath her feet. Her mouth opened but no sound came out. Her fingers trembled as she reached for the door handle, needing to see it, needing to end the delusion.

She was inches from the knob when the door suddenly opened from the inside.

Jason stood there. Shirtless. Breathless. Talia laid on the bed behind him, draped in satin sheets, a smug smile on her lips.

And then-

"Elira?"

"Elira?"

Jason's voice broke the silence like a bullet through glass.

He stood there, shirtless, hair tousled, lips swollen from kisses that weren't hers. His pupils dilated-not with guilt, but shock. Not even shame.

Behind him, Talia Grant leaned against the bedroom doorframe in nothing but a satin sheet, her blonde hair cascading over her bare shoulder like she'd just stepped out of a perfume ad. And on her face? A smile.

A smug, slow, superior smile.

The kind that said I won, without saying a word.

Elira didn't move for a second. She stared at them both, her eyes flickering between the betrayal in flesh and the betrayal in silk.

Then-

SLAP.

Jason's head jerked sideways as her palm connected with his cheek.

"You bastard!" she screamed, chest heaving as she reached for the nearest thing-the gift bag-and hurled it at him. The Cartier box hit his shoulder, and the glass bottle of cologne shattered against the hardwood floor.

"Six years, Jason! Six goddamn years!"

"Elira, wait-"

She grabbed the bracelet box next. "This-" she hurled it at his chest, "-was engraved. I hand-wrote your letter. I loved you like a fool!"

Jason staggered backward, arms up. "Elira, listen-"

"Don't you dare say my name!"

"I didn't mean for you to find out like this-" he started.

"Oh, so you were cheating?! For how long?"

He exhaled sharply, annoyance flashing in his eyes. "Elira, I'm a man! I have needs, too! You wanted to wait for marriage, and that was cute at first, but-let's be real-that stuff is old-fashioned. No one our age does that anymore!"

SLAP.

Again.

The sound cracked through the hall like thunder.

Talia gasped behind him, clutching the sheet closer with faux innocence painted all over her face. "Please stop! Don't hit him anymore! If you need to vent your anger, hit me! You don't have to hit him again."

Elira's eyes slowly turned toward her best friend, "You sly wench!"

Talia stepped forward, barefoot, her nails painted in the same shade Elira had worn two weeks ago-a color Elira had chosen for their "girls' day out."

"I didn't mean for you to find out like this," she said with a pout that could win Oscars. "But... I've always liked Jason. I- I just never said anything because, well... you were dating him."

Elira blinked, stunned by the audacity.

"I mean, don't take this the wrong way," Talia continued, twirling a piece of her hair. "I tried to fight it, really. But we just have a connection, you know? You and Jason were always kinda... tense. I didn't want to hurt you."

Elira stared at her, a soft breath leaving her lips-quiet, calm, chilling.

Then she took two steps forward-

And slapped her.

Talia staggered sideways, mouth open, the sheet slipping slightly down her shoulder.

"You planned this," Elira whispered, trembling. "You're not even sorry."

"I-I am! I-"

"Save it."

She turned her back to both of them, her heels clicking against the marble as she stormed down the staircase. The broken pieces of her love lay behind her, shattered and stinking of sex and lies.

She bent to gather the bags that hadn't been thrown upstairs, every item she bought with love now weighing her down like bricks. Then, without another glance, she pushed open the door and left.

As she stepped into the quiet night, Sabrina's voice returned like a ghost:

"He flirts with every woman! He's just like his father!"

Elira's jaw clenched. She shoved the bags into her car and slid into the driver's seat.

Bitter silence.

The steering wheel blurred through the tears that she refused to let fall.

Inside the penthouse, Jason stood in silence. He expected to feel... free. Like a chain had been cut.

But instead, he felt nothing but an uncomfortable weight in his chest. His throat was dry. The echo of her voice still bounced off the walls.

"Talia," he muttered, looking at the lipstick stain on the sheet draped over her chest. "You said she wouldn't find out yet."

Talia shrugged. "Oops. My bad."

He turned away.

--

Meanwhile, Elira didn't stop driving until the city lights blurred like stars.

She couldn't go home. Not yet. Not with Sabrina waiting to tell her "I told you so." She needed to be numb.

She needed oblivion.

She needed to forget.

And so she drove across the city, turning off at a neon-lit corner that pulsed like a heartbeat. The sign overhead read:

"Eclipse Room – Cocktails, Smoke, No Questions."

She parked recklessly and stepped out of the car, her heels clicking against the pavement. The bouncer looked her over but didn't stop her-she had that look. The look of a woman who came here not to dance, not to flirt-but to disappear.

Inside, the bar was dim and pulsing with low music. Gold light glinted off mirrored walls and half-empty glasses. Elira made a beeline for the bar, her breath shaky.

"Whiskey," she said. "Neat. And keep them coming."

The bartender raised a brow but obeyed.

She didn't speak. She didn't smile. Drink after drink, she swallowed down memories until they drowned in amber.

Then someone approached.

"Hey there, gorgeous."

A man. Early thirties. Clean suit, cheap cologne. A pick-up line waiting to happen.

"Not interested," Elira said without looking at him.

"Aw, c'mon. One drink-"

She turned to him with slow, icy precision. Her eyes, bloodshot from tears and fury, glared into him like daggers.

"Walk. Away."

He opened his mouth, then shut it, "arrogant bitch." He muttered under his breath as he left.

She went back to drinking.

The world spun. Her limbs loosened. Her heart was still clenched, but her mind floated far above it. A laugh escaped her lips-but it was hollow. Dead.

She stood up, stumbling slightly. Her legs felt heavy. Her head pounded.

She turned-

And crashed directly into a broad chest.

Hands gripped her waist to steady her.

"Whoa. Careful."

Elira looked up-and met the eyes of a stranger.

Tall. Imposing. Dressed in a black shirt with the sleeves rolled to his elbows, exposing strong forearms and a watch that probably cost more than her car. His jaw was sharp, his presence magnetic-and his eyes?

Cold. Calculating.

He wasn't drunk.

He wasn't lost.

He was watching her.

"Are you alright, young lady?" he asked softly, lips curving into something unreadable. "You shouldn't be drinking here, alone."

Her heart skipped a beat.

"I- you- who are you?," she whispered, eyes narrowing.

But he smiled.

"How could you have forgotten me so soon hmm? Niece in-law..." the man drawled.

Elira who had been drunk gasped, "You're a pretty escort!"

The room fell into silence.

The remaining men in the private club froze, mid-drink, mid-conversation, when they heard the tipsy young woman in the purple heels look up-her lips twisted into a mischievous smile-and slur:

"You're... you're a pretty escort. I've never seen one with such nice hands."

A low cough came from the shadows.

One of the men, dressed in all black with a square jaw, narrow eyes, and a military-style buzz cut, stepped forward under the dim gold lights. His fists clenched, and his voice cut the air like broken glass.

"How dare you call the boss an escort?"

Before he could say another word, Elira Monroe turned to him, eyes glazed with alcohol and rage. And in one swift, unbothered motion, she shoved him back with surprising strength.

The man stumbled, blinking.

She didn't care. Her focus returned to the one who hadn't said a word yet.

The man she called a "pretty escort."

He towered over her, clad in a black silk dress shirt, open at the collar, his dark hair tousled like he'd walked out of a luxury cologne ad. He radiated the kind of power that made most people shrink back.

But not Elira.

No, she stepped right into his space, grinned, and giggled like a woman who had nothing left to lose.

Then-she grabbed his tie. And pulled.

Down. Down to her eye level.

"Hi there, Pretty," she whispered.

His subordinates stiffened, visibly horrified.

But the man himself? His lips twitched, almost amused. He let her tug him closer, like a cat indulging a drunken bird. His hands didn't move. His breathing didn't change.

He was watching her.

Enjoying her.

"I wanna know," Elira whispered, her breath warm and smelling faintly of honeyed whiskey. "How much do you charge for a night?"

The man raised a brow, voice low and dangerous. "Oh? Really?"

"Mmm-hmm," she nodded, fondling a lock of his hair with unexpected tenderness. "See, I was saving myself for my boyfriend. You know... that old-fashioned thing girls do? The whole no-sex-until-I-hear-church-bells fairytale. I thought I was special."

Her voice cracked.

"I thought love meant sacrifice. But turns out, love just means watching your boyfriend sleep with your best friend while you're out buying him a gift."

His brow furrowed.

She smiled, glassy-eyed.

"My sister warned me. Sabrina. She always said he was a red flag in designer clothing. But I was stupid. I was blind. Hell, I insulted my big sister." She let go of his hair, then playfully poked him in the chest. "I'll give you an advice. Don't fall in love with a man who only has good looks and a rotten attitude, Mister Escort."

Behind them, the buzzcut subordinate blinked in confusion. "Did she just give our boss dating advice?"

Another whispered behind him, "Did she just suggest Boss might date a man?"

"Is... is she saying he's gay?"

The first one paled. "She's gonna die."

But their boss didn't even flinch.

He simply gazed down at the drunken little storm in purple shoes and mascara-streaked eyes and smiled.

Then, without a word, he slipped his arm around her waist and pulled her against him.

"Gasp!" Elira squeaked, caught off guard. "What are you doing?"

He bent slightly, his voice brushing against her ear. "How do you plan to get your revenge?"

She blinked.

Then pouted.

"I don't know..." she admitted. "Something big. Something that makes Jason regret breathing. Maybe throw acid on his car. Sleep with his cousin? Hah. No. He doesn't have any family worth seducing."

He smirked, tilting his head. "No uncle?"

Elira scoffed and rolled her eyes. "Pfft, if he had a fine uncle, I'd have already seduced him and made him call me Auntie Elira."

Her words sent a silent, invisible earthquake through the room.

The subordinates looked like they might faint.

The man's smirk deepened. "Well," he said slowly, "I do know of one uncle who might be interested in helping you out."

Elira blinked up at him. Her face was flushed. Her lipstick was a little smeared. She looked both broken and beautiful.

"Really?" she giggled. "That's so nice of you."

Just as he was about to say more, Elira's eyes darkened.

"But first..." she said, turning in his arms, then reaching down to tug him by the finger, "...I want to know what sex feels like, with you. What was it that made Jason pick her over me? Was it that good?"

She let out a dramatic gasp. "Oh. Right. They're both my exes now!"

With no warning, she tugged him hard and began walking toward the velvet-lined corridor at the back of the club.

The stunned subordinates called out in horror.

"Boss!"

He looked over his shoulder and narrowed his eyes.

"Take the night off."

They went silent.

The man followed her through the corridor until they arrived at a VVIP lounge-soundproofed, sleek, gold-lit and private.

The door shut behind them with a magnetic click.

Inside, Elira kicked off her shoes and turned with drunken confidence.

"C'mon, Mr. Escort. No need to be shy. I'll pay well."

He leaned against the wall, arms folded.

"How much do you want to pay me?"

She tilted her head, grinning.

"That depends on your performance."

He studied her, noting the clarity in her slurred words. She was drunk-but still her.

Before he could say another word, she suddenly stepped forward, grabbed both his arms, and slammed them above his head against the wall.

He raised a brow, amused but motionless.

"You want the price?" she whispered, biting her lip.

He smirked. "I'm listening."

She leaned in-closer, closer-then suddenly raised her knee and nudged him right between the legs.

Not hard. Just enough.

He exhaled sharply through his nose, jaw tightening.

"It depends on your performance," she repeated in a singsong voice.

Then, with the grace of a chaotic goddess, she pushed him onto the leather lounge chair behind him. She stumbled, giggling, and fell into his lap.

And then-

She went limp.

Her head rested on his chest, her breathing slowed.

He looked down at her.

Passed. Out.

Completely unconscious.

He stared at her.

Then glanced at the whiskey bottle in the corner.

"Seriously?" he muttered. "How much did you drink?"

But before he could move her, she murmured in her sleep.

"I'll make him pay. Jason. Wasted six years..."

A slow smile curved on his lips.

He brushed a lock of hair from her face.

"Well, Elira," he murmured, "I can't wait to see what you have up your sleeve."