NINA

It had been three weeks since she saw Eric at the university, where she'd rejected his invitation for dinner. She'd thought it was just the right thing to do—keep her distance from the complication of a man who wasn't supposed to matter—but Eric had other plans. After that day, an unfamiliar number had texted her. She'd hesitated at first, thinking it might be someone from school or work.

But the person was quick to clarify, "This is Eric," he'd sent, "Eric Lockwood. In case I didn't end up making a lasting impression... I'm the one you turned down twice already."

He apologized for getting her number without permission, which, she thought, was considerate. Then came the kicker. "This is the only thing I'll do without your consent moving forward," he'd texted. Just when she thought he was a gentleman, he'd texted again, "Of course, chasing you doesn't count."

She'd frowned at the directness, yet she couldn't deny how her heart raced at his boldness. Classic Eric, direct and completely unashamed.

Nina had responded neutrally, her mind hyper-aware of how she was feeling. The phone in her hand seemed to buzz with the weight of his words. She was ready to block him as soon as he said one more word that was out of line. 

Instead, he had completely steered the conversation into something so harmless it gave her a whiplash—the weather. Then the traffic. Boring things. She'd been careful, keeping her distance, ready to withdraw at a moment's notice. But then he mentioned an art piece she had always loved, and Nina found herself spilling her thoughts to him.

Art was her refuge. The brushstrokes of a painting could make her feel at home in a world where everything felt transient. Art saved her from her headaches, from her traumas and from herself. And he probably caught it, even if not the whole story, he probably knew what it meant to her, because after that, a large part of their conversations for the next few days revolved around it. 

Before she knew it, she was texting him every day. The soft chime of her phone had become something she almost looked forward to, her hand automatically reaching for it, the flutter of anticipation rising in her chest. It was as if he had subtly weaved himself into her routine, and her mind had adjusted to it.

Their conversations extended beyond the day, with her waking up to his messages, a smile tugging at the corners of her mouth as the text thread opened. Sometimes, just the tone of his words brightened her day, the way he joked or mentioned something trivial but still managed to make it seem interesting. 

His wit was quick, playful in a way she hadn't expected. He knew how to get under her skin, and sometimes, she didn't mind at all.

From then on, things had become easier. Eric didn't push. He'd asked her about paintings, discussed politics, philosophy, business. Their conversations were easy, comfortable—nothing like the tense, controlling exchanges she'd grown accustomed to with Ritvik. 

With Eric, she wasn't on edge. She could take a breath, let her guard down. It wasn't just the jokes that made her smile. It was the rhythm they'd created together, one that didn't feel forced. Maybe too much, sometimes. The more she talked to Eric, the more she realized how much she wanted to give in.

But Ritvik, of course, wasn't going to let her forget him. He was slowly creeping into every aspect of her life—whether it was asking where she was going, who she was meeting, or more invasively, trying to unlock her phone just the previous day.

Of course, she got mad at him for it, hyper-aware that under the anger, there was also fear.

In response, Ritvik had slammed his phone into her hand. "248912—the password. You're free to go through my phone. You know why? I have nothing to hide. What about you, Nina?"

Nina hadn't known how to respond. Of course, she had something to hide. Eric. Even now, despite the innocent banter and the slow-building connection, she couldn't ignore how dangerous it was. 

Being with Eric felt right in a way she wasn't ready to admit, and yet, Ritvik's presence was suffocating, especially now that their wedding was only five months away. The weight of the engagement ring on her finger had never felt heavier.

The car screeched to a stop, dragging Nina back into the present. Ritvik was parking his red Ferrari outside Hotel Paradise. They were going to Garcia Lorren, the place where she had met Eric—no, where she had mistaken Eric for Ritvik that night her father forced her into a blind date. 

She tried to shake off the uneasy feelings swirling in her stomach as Ritvik opened the door for her and pulled her forward, the familiar, cold luxury of his touch settling into her skin like a shroud.

The soft buzz of chatter and faint hum of classical music drifted through the open elevator as they reached the 7th floor.

As they walked to the front door, Nina could feel the familiar tension creeping up her spine. The clink of heels against the polished floor echoed through the quiet hallway, each step more weighted than the last. 

The instant she stepped inside the corridor, her gaze was immediately drawn to one particular piece. The same painting by Buerella that she and Eric had discussed that day. Her chest tightened as she stepped toward it, the strokes and depth of the colors pulling her in with a force she couldn't escape.

Ritvik must've noticed her change in demeanor because he stepped closer, his eyes narrowing just slightly. "What's wrong?" he asked, his voice low, almost too calm. "You look... distracted."

Nina blinked, forcing a smile that didn't quite reach her eyes. "Nothing. I'm just hungry," she lied, but Ritvik wasn't convinced.

"You're thinking about him, aren't you?" His voice was colder than usual, but it wasn't anger that flashed in his eyes. It was something far darker. Possessiveness. The tension in the air thickened, heavy as the fine velvet curtains surrounding them.

Nina froze. Who? Eric? He knew? No, she hadn't told him anything about Eric. How could he know? She stumbled on her words. "Who?" she asked, swallowing with difficulty.

"Eric Lockwood," Ritvik's gaze hardened. "This place belongs to him, you didn't know that?"

Nina froze, surprised. "What? Garcia Lorren?" she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

Ritvik smirked, clearly pleased by her surprise. "Yes, funny, isn't it? I can't help but think back to when he gifted you the necklace. You said you met him for the first time then, but are you sure you didn't remember wrong? Hmm, baby?"

Nina's heart skipped. There it was again, that term of endearment that he knew she hated. But she focussed more on his question before that and suddenly felt exposed. Trying her best to hide it she said, her tone as steady as it could be, "I didn't know this place belonged to him. And I don't know him well enough to receive that necklace. I told you I returned it, didn't I?"

For now, Ritvik seemed satisfied with her response. But the unease in Nina's stomach grew.

He stepped closer, his hand clutching hers as they walked further into the restaurant. "I see," he continued, his voice softening, "you're not thinking about him. That's good, Nina. I wouldn't want anyone to take what's mine." His words felt like a rope tightening around her neck, suffocating her.

Nina's stomach churned, bile rising up her throat. "I'm not thinking about anyone," she replied, her voice steady despite the tension building inside her. "And I'm not yours. I've said it a million times before, and I'll say it a million more until it gets through that thick head of yours."

Ritvik chuckled, "Fair enough. You're not mine... yet."

***

That night, as she sat alone in her apartment, her phone buzzed on the table, pulling her from her thoughts about Ritvik's words earlier that night. The sharp sound felt like an intrusion on her peaceful solitude. But she picked it up before she even thought about it as if that's how she was always supposed to respond to that sound.

As Eric's text lit up her screen, the suffocating tension she felt all evening lifted. His words were like a window opening in a room she hadn't realized was airless.

Eric: "Do you know Snopume is having a private concert in Santa Marina Navis this Sunday?"

Nina: "No way! Really? How do you know??"

Nina: "Nevermind, that was a dumb question. You own that cruise."

Eric: "Details. Details. XD Anyway, this is meant to be completely confidential to boost the impact his presence makes to the guests. TL/DR - a surprise"

Nina: "But??"

Eric: "But the awesome me remembered a certain conversation we had two weeks ago, where the usually withdrawn you mentioned the same Snopume 19 times within 3 hours of texting. So..."

Nina: "So?????"

Eric: "So I got us backstage passes."

The text was casual, and yet it struck her like a blow. She could feel the heat rising to her cheeks as she stared at the screen, her heart beating what seemed like a million times a minute. He remembered a casual conversation they had two weeks ago? And made a gesture that no one had ever done for her.

Her thumb hovered over her phone, but for the first time, she hesitated. She knew what he wanted. He was asking her out by dropping a bait that was so tempting. Beyond the bait itself was the charm of the man releasing it. 

But what did it mean to accept? And what label would their relationship have? Especially with Ritvik breathing down her neck.

This was a step into the unknown with Eric—and she could no longer ignore it as something innocent. This was a quagmire, one she desired to sink into. Her thumb hovered over the screen, ready to type a response, when her phone buzzed again. Another message—but not from Eric.

Ritvik: "You don't have any plans on Sunday, do you?

Ritvik: "Of course, you don't. Who would you even make plans with? Benita will be on a vacation with her two lovers."

Ritvik: "So be ready at 5 pm on Sunday."

Her screen went dark, leaving her staring at her reflection, trapped between one man's charm and another's control.