The murmurs of adoration rose from the crowd like a heavy, suffocating fog.
"Happy birthday to you, Queen Elara."
"You look so beautiful!"
"I love you so much!"
"Many more years, Elara!"
"You're my role model."
The words spilled out of their mouths, thick with reverence, as though they could fill her with something she did not feel—a need for love that ran far too shallow. Elara's eyes glazed over them, the hollow echoes of their praise bouncing off her, never quite touching her soul. The fans, the flashing cameras, the adoration—they meant nothing. They were simply voices in the wind, fleeting, transient.
She walked through the throng of people with the same effortless grace that defined her every step, gliding above it all, as she always did. Don't look down, she thought. Don't acknowledge their desperation. The guards encircled her like wolves, parting the crowd with ease. Their presence was a suffocating reminder that even the most adored had walls built around them.
Her security detail did their job well, her every move protected, every space respected. But it was clear—their protection wasn't for her safety. It was for her image, her status.
Elara's gaze swept over the sea of people, no emotion to be found in her eyes. She barely spared them a glance before turning sharply, stepping away from the chaos and into the hall.
Her co-models stood waiting at the entrance, but she didn't stop. Her eyes didn't even flicker in their direction as she brushed past them, leaving her manager to handle them. Beneath me, all of them are, she thought with a bitter smile. Why waste her time when she could be elsewhere, far away from the clutter of the ordinary?
As Elara walked, the familiar hum of her own thoughts drowned out the noise around her. She had no time for the irrelevant. She entered the shooting room, and immediately, the atmosphere shifted. The air seemed to tighten, the weight of expectations pressing down upon her like a thick velvet cloak. The director's voice cut through the silence, a sharp, almost desperate relief at seeing her.
"Bravo, she's finally here," he said, his tone syrupy with forced cheer.
She barely acknowledged him, her gaze never wavering as she dropped into a nearby chair, smooth and unbothered. "I was busy with some things," she replied casually, her voice icy, devoid of apology. She didn't owe them anything.
"Happy birthday, Lara," the director continued, handing her a carefully wrapped package, his voice faltering under the weight of her indifference.
A smile, the one she reserved for public consumption, spread across her face. The mask was flawless. But there, standing across from her, was K. D. His eyes met hers. The briefest of glances, yet it burned. A flicker of something beneath the surface, something she couldn't place.
And then, the moment shattered—he scoffed, turning away. How dare you? she thought, but her lips pressed tighter together, forcing her smile to remain.
He wasn't going to break her. Not today. Not ever.
"I only have an hour to spare here," K. D.'s voice interrupted her thoughts, sharp, dismissive as if his presence didn't demand hers. "Twenty minutes is already gone," he added coldly, turning toward the director. His words landed like ice in her chest. She watched him with narrowed eyes, her fingers curling into fists at her sides.
"Apologies, Kelvin," the director stammered his face an expression of strained politeness.
"Everyone, to the dressing room," Elara's manager called out, ushering everyone into motion, but Elara remained still, her mind already elsewhere.
---
As Elara left the shooting set, the weight of the earlier tension clung to her like a dark cloud, but she masked it well. The hollow cheer of the fans, the distance from K. D's icy rejection—I won't let it faze me. She was Elara. She had been on top for so long that nothing could touch her. Nothing but him.
Her manager, Julia, stepped into the space beside her, a bottle of water in her hand. "How was today's shooting?" she asked, passing her the bottle.
"Not bad," Elara replied absently, her lips barely parting as she took the bottle. She unscrewed the cap and took a sip, the water cool against her throat, but not soothing the burn in her chest. I'll show him, she thought, tightening her grip on the bottle. He won't ever forget me.
"You got so many gifts," Julia added, voice teasing but light.
Elara smirked, the ego-driven pride flaring in her chest like wildfire. "That's expected for an international model like me," she boasted, her tone dripping with superiority. Of course, they adored her. She was the epitome of beauty and grace—the pinnacle of their dreams. She wasn't just a model. She was a goddess in their eyes.
A small shift in her peripheral vision caught her attention. K. D., striding away with his usual arrogant air. Don't you dare run from me, she thought, feeling the familiar fire stoke inside her. Her lips curled upward in a predatory smile.
"I'll be right back, Julia," she muttered, handing the bottle back to her manager before striding toward the door. The sound of her footsteps was the only thing that filled the silence.
She didn't look back, but Julia's muttered "Gosh, she's incredible" followed her, just faint enough to be drowned out by the rising drumbeat of Elara's pulse.
She reached the door to K. D.'s dressing room. Her fingers trembled slightly as she reached for the handle, her breath quickening with anticipation. What would she do once she was inside? He'll have no choice. Her thoughts were sharp, cutting through any lingering hesitation. He'll see what he's missing.
The door creaked open, and there he was. K. D. stood before the mirror, shirtless, the lean muscles of his back flexing with each movement, his phone pressed to his ear, but his other hand... scrolled through something, a quiet defiance in the way he moved.
Her heartbeat quickened.
K. D.'s voice cut through her thoughts as he spoke to his manager, "Cancel everything on my list today," he muttered dismissively.
It was as though he hadn't even noticed her, but Elara had no intention of being ignored. She crossed the room quickly, her hands reaching for him as though she owned him.
Before she could get close, he hung up the phone and turned around abruptly. His eyes were cold—there was no warmth, no recognition. Just rage and disgust.
"What's this madness you're displaying?" he snapped, his voice thick with disdain. The sharpness of his tone sliced through her, but she refused to be cut.
She chuckled, stepping closer. "What do you mean by madness?" she asked, her voice smooth, almost seductive. She couldn't help the boldness in her tone. You're mine, she told herself. You just don't know it yet.
She reached for him, but he grabbed her hand before it could touch him. The disgust in his eyes deepened, his grip tightening. "You're shameless," he said coldly, pushing her away with an easy violence that left her breathless, heart pounding.
"Killian, what's your problem?" she snapped, her voice trembling now with something far darker. "Are mine not beautiful enough? Why are you pretending like you don't know what I want?"
He sneered, shaking his head, the words flowing out of him like venom. "I've seen you've finally gone nuts," he said, his voice a low growl, disgust lacing his every word. "You've lost your mind, Elara. For the sake of the Lord, snap out of your stupidity, because I can never stoop so low as to have anything to do with you."
She reeled back, the sting of his words a brutal slap to her ego. He'll break. She refused to believe it. She had to make him see it her way.
"Why? Are you behaving like a saint, Killian?" Her voice was soft now, almost a whisper, as she back-hugged him again, her hands slipping under his arms. She could feel the tightness of his muscles, the way his body stiffened, how he refused to bend. Not this time, she thought, but a small, bitter part of her knew. This time, it might be different. But that didn't matter. She could make him see.
She could make him hers.
The moment K.D. felt Elara's cold hand grasp his arm, a spark of frustration ignited inside him. His breath hitched, his jaw clenched, but he remained still, just barely managing to keep his emotions from overtaking him. His eyes, sharp and icy, cut through her like a blade. He looked at her with something colder than hatred—pity.
"Get out," he growled, his voice low and dangerous, pushing her away. His hands trembled slightly, a mix of fury and disbelief surging through him.
He couldn't stop the words from spilling out, raw and venomous. "I pity Jimin," he spat, the bitterness in his voice sharp as glass. "I pity him for stooping so low for a bitch like you." He wanted to reach out, grab her by the throat, and make her feel the weight of the pain she was causing, but he restrained himself, the tension in the room palpable. He couldn't let her see him lose control.
"Despite everything he does for you," he continued, his voice tightening, "you still cheat on him. You still play him for a fool." His eyes bore into her, searching for any sign of remorse, but all he saw was that insufferable smirk. "Despite all your wrongdoings, he still cares for you. And you're doing this—treating him like trash—because you know he won't leave. You think you can get away with it, don't you?"
K. D. could barely stop the disgust from seeping into his words. His knuckles whitened as he gripped the edge of the table. He imagined what Jimin must feel. The loyalty, the love. How could someone betray that?
Elara's laugh cut through the air like nails on a chalkboard. Her voice, sugary sweet, dripped with disdain. "I agree with you," she purred, leaning in closer, her eyes sparkling with malice. "But Jimin? He's a draft." Her words stung, each one like a blade carving deeper into K. D's gut. "He calls it love. I call it stupidity."
A surge of rage flooded K. D.'s chest, hot and thick, the air around them becoming suffocating. His breathing quickened, heart pounding in his ears. How could she be so callous, so indifferent? He wanted to scream, to shatter her smug expression. But no, he wouldn't let her see him break. He wouldn't let her win.
"You and I both know," she continued, a malicious glint in her eye, "he won't find out. So, don't worry. You're just wasting your time, K. DD. Her words dripped with the venom of someone who believed she was untouchable. She was playing with fire, and K.D. could feel the heat crawling up his skin.
He wanted to rip her apart. To scream in her face that she was wrong, that Jimin deserved better than this. But instead, he stayed calm, his voice barely a whisper. "Get lost, Elara." His tone was like ice, biting and cruel, but she didn't listen.
Her fingers slid onto his arm, a touch that made his skin crawl. "K. D," she breathed, her lips barely an inch from his ear. "You're what I want. You've got everything. Not him. He's just some shabby excuse of a man, but you? You've got power. You've got control. It's you I want."
Her words dripped with desire, the rawness of her lust creeping under his skin. He recoiled inwardly, but his body betrayed him as his grip on her wrist tightened instinctively, cutting through the tension like a knife.
Her eyes flashed with surprise, but K.D. didn't care. He squeezed harder, his fingers digging into her skin. "You don't know what you have until you lose it," he muttered through clenched teeth. His pulse throbbed in his temples as he watched her wince. "The only reason I'm not hurting you right now is because I care about Jimin." The words came out strangled, thick with unspoken anger, and every ounce of restraint he had left was on the verge of snapping.
He leaned closer, his voice like a whisper in the night, cold and threatening. "But next time, Elara?" His grip tightened, making her gasp. "Next time you try this nonsense again, I promise you, I'll snap your neck. I'll break your bones into pieces. And I'll enjoy every second of it. Mark my words."
He released her roughly, and she staggered backward, clutching her hand. The redness of her skin where he had held her was already blooming into angry, bruised marks. She glared at him, hatred burning in her eyes.
"I won't back down from you, Killian Diamond," she snapped, fury laced through her voice.
K. D. didn't even spare her another glance as she turned to leave. He heard the door click shut behind her, but it didn't bring the peace he so desperately sought. Instead, it left him feeling hollow, like a storm was still raging inside him.
His hand ran through his hair, his fingers trembling with the aftershock of his anger. "Shit," he muttered, sinking back against the wall. His chest felt tight, his breath shallow. Elara's words still echoed in his mind, and he hated the way they made him feel—helpless, trapped.
He closed his eyes, trying to calm himself, trying to put the pieces of his fractured mind back together. But the rage still simmered beneath the surface, barely contained.