Work Text:
Three months ago
Valentina’s hands pinned Mel’s body against the wall with a force that would leave marks.
"Please." Mel begged, her voice hoarse and desperate. "Val, please, fuck me. Fuck me until I forget my own name."
Valentina didn’t answer with words.
Seeing Mel beg like that – her dark eyes shining with need, her lips swollen from too much kissing, her whole body trembling with anticipation – awakened something inside her. Instead, she grabbed Mel by the hips and lifted her, setting her roughly on top of the marble kitchen island.
Mel’s dress – that black Versace Valentina had once bought for her – tore in the movement. The sound of fabric ripping echoed through the luxurious apartment, mixing with the guttural moan that escaped Mel’s lips.
"You’re gonna pay for that." Mel murmured against Valentina’s neck, biting hard enough to leave teeth marks.
"Put it on my tab, baby." Valentina replied, already pulling Mel closer.
It had all started at the charity event two hours earlier. Valentina had seen Mel talking to that blonde reporter – too close, too smiley – for her liking, and something inside her had snapped. It didn’t matter that it was just work. It didn’t matter that Mel had explained it was only an interview for Vogue. What mattered was that the woman was touching Mel’s arm, and Mel was smiling in that way she used to smile only at Valentina.
The fight started in the car. Continued in the elevator. Exploded the moment the apartment door shut behind them.
"You’re impossible!" Mel had shouted, pushing Valentina against the hallway wall.
"And you’re a fucking tease." Valentina had replied, grabbing Mel’s face with both hands and kissing her so hard their lips bled at one point.
And then, as always, the anger had turned into sex.
Now, with Mel’s head thrown back against the cold marble and her body arched at an impossible angle, Valentina knelt down. Her nails – perfectly manicured, painted deep red – scratched at Mel’s thighs as she pushed the torn dress upward.
"Val..." Mel moaned, her hands tangled in Valentina’s hair.
Valentina didn’t make her wait. Her mouth found Mel’s center with precision. She knew every inch of her ex-girlfriend better than she knew her own body. Her tongue traced slow, teasing circles before sucking on Mel’s clit with a pressure that tore a scream from the model’s throat.
"Oh yes! There!" Mel moaned, arching her back, her heels digging into Valentina’s back. "Right there! Don’t stop, d-don’t stop, don’t—"
Valentina’s nails dug into Mel’s thighs, leaving red crescents on her brown skin. She picked up the rhythm, alternating between long licks and intense suction, until she felt Mel start to tremble.
"Val, I’m gonna– fuck, I’m gonna—"
Mel came apart against Valentina’s mouth with a scream that probably woke the downstairs neighbors. Her whole body convulsed, her hands pulling Valentina’s hair hard enough to hurt, her hips jerking in uncontrollable spasms.
Valentina didn’t stop until Mel pushed her away, completely undone.
For a moment, there was only the sound of their heavy breathing filling the quiet kitchen. Valentina stood slowly, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. Her knees ached from the hard marble. Her back burned where Mel’s nails had clawed through her silk blouse.
When she looked at Mel – lying across the kitchen island, dress torn, hair a mess, face covered in smudged lipstick and bite marks – something tightened in her chest.
This wasn’t healthy.
They weren’t healthy.
"Come here." Mel murmured, reaching out her hand.
Valentina went.
That was the last time.
🔪
Now
Three months later, Valentina stares at the ceiling of her bedroom at three in the morning and wonders when exactly everything fell apart.
It wasn’t that night. It wasn’t the next day, when Mel woke up on the empty side of the bed and found only a note: Had to leave early. Important meeting.
It was gradual. It was in the messages Valentina started to ignore. The calls she let go to voicemail. The events she began attending alone – or worse, with other women.
It wasn’t that she didn’t want Mel. It was that she wanted her too much. And Valentina Allegra de Fontaine didn’t build an empire by being the kind of woman who loses control over a twenty-four-year-old model with brown eyes and a smile that promised both heaven and hell.
So she cut her off.
Or at least tried to.
Her phone vibrates on the nightstand. Valentina doesn’t need to look to know who it is. It’s always the same time – 3:17 a.m., when the world is quiet and defenses are down.
She picks up the phone.
Fifteen unread messages.
Valentina should block the number. She should delete the messages without reading them. She should do anything other than what she’s doing right now—rereading every word, feeling something hot and dangerous spread through her chest.
It’s not anger. It should be, but it’s not.
It’s something worse. Something more addictive.
It’s the confirmation that Mel is still obsessed. Still hurting. Still hers.
Valentina types a reply and deletes it three times before finally sending:
The answer comes in seconds.
And God help Valentina, because Mel is absolutely right.
🔪
Valentina sighed, adjusting her blazer as she watched the city wake through the floor-to-ceiling windows of her office. Another day. More endless meetings with middle-aged men in expensive suits who thought they could run a company better than she could. More fake smiles and calculated handshakes.
She took a sip of her coffee, black, no sugar, still steaming, and her eyes fell on the magazine on her desk.
Vogue. October issue.
Mel was on the cover.
Valentina had told herself she wouldn’t buy it. That she wouldn’t look for it. That she would move on like an adult, rational woman who doesn’t get obsessed with her ex-girlfriend.
And yet, there it was. Bought discreetly at a newsstand on the corner near her office. Hidden under financial reports as if it were illicit pornography.
In the photo, Mel wore a blood-red Valentino dress, her body curved at an impossible angle, eyes locked on the camera with an intensity that made Valentina’s stomach tighten.
She was more beautiful than ever.
More confident.
The longing hit like a punch to the chest.
Valentina closed her eyes, trying to push away the memory of Mel’s hands in her hair, Mel’s mouth on her skin, the way Mel moaned her name like a blasphemous prayer.
Three months, she reminded herself. You lasted three months. Don’t give up now.
The office door swung open abruptly.
“Ma’am.” Ava, her secretary, rushed in, eyes wide. Behind her, two uniformed men carried an absurdly large bouquet of red roses. There had to be at least a hundred flowers, maybe more, arranged in a dramatic explosion of petals and thorns.
“We don’t know who sent them,” Ava explained, clearly uneasy. “I tried to stop them, but they said they had strict orders to deliver in person and—”
“It’s fine, Ava.” Valentina stood, her heart speeding up in a way she hated to admit. “You can go.”
Ava hesitated, giving the flowers a worried glance before finally leaving, closing the door behind her. The delivery men set the bouquet on the coffee table and left quickly, leaving Valentina alone with the roses.
She didn’t need to read the card to know who had sent them. But of course there was one, a small black envelope tucked among the petals. Valentina picked it up with fingers that trembled imperceptibly.
The scent hit first. That perfume. Mel’s perfume. Valentina had bought it for her in their first month together, in a small, obscure boutique in Paris. Mel had never stopped wearing it.
Valentina lifted the card to her nose, inhaling deeply before she could stop herself. Pathetic, a voice in her head whispered. But she couldn’t stop.
Finally, she opened the envelope.
The handwriting was Mel’s, those elegant cursive letters that contrasted with everything else about her.
I’m watching you x 💋.
A shiver ran down Valentina’s spine. It wasn’t fear. It should have been, but it wasn’t.
It was excitement.
She scoffed, trying to disguise her body’s reaction, and tossed the card onto the table. The roses stared back at her, red as blood, beautiful as sin.
This is ridiculous, Valentina thought, grabbing her phone.
She’s trying to scare me.
I’m not afraid of you.
But her hands were already typing before her brain could protest.
A lie. Valentina was already mentally calculating how many vases she’d need to hold all those roses. Maybe she’d scatter them around the apartment. Maybe put some in the bedroom, where she could wake up to Mel’s scent every morning.
The reply came in seconds. Mel had been waiting.
Using her full name was an attempt to create distance. To remind herself that she was Valentina Allegra de Fontaine, CEO of a multimillion-dollar company, not a desperate woman who still dreamed about her ex every night.
Mel’s reply made her stop breathing.
Three words. Simple. Direct. Absolutely confident.
Valentina looked at the roses. At the magazine on her desk. At her reflection in the window, a powerful woman in a three-thousand-dollar suit, with the world at her feet.
And yet, all she could think about was Mel.
How her hands felt.
How her mouth tasted.
Valentina didn’t respond. She didn’t trust herself to.
Instead, she locked her phone, took the Vogue magazine, and placed it in the bottom drawer of her desk, the one she kept locked, where no one else could see. But not before running her fingers over Mel’s face on the cover, just once, so lightly it almost didn’t count.
You’ll come back to me, Mel’s voice echoed in her head.
And the scariest part was that Valentina was starting to believe she was right.
🔪
Valentina sighed tensely, her fingers gripping the wine glass hard enough that her knuckles went white.
When is this dinner going to be over?
She pretended to listen to whatever John Walker was saying - something about quarterly budgets and market projections - while she bit her lower lip and tapped her heels against the floor in an anxious rhythm. At that rate she would need two more bottles of wine to tolerate that tedious man.
Walker was useful. Rich. Well connected. Exactly the kind of business partner Valentina needed. But God, he was boring.
She took another sip of wine and let her eyes wander around the restaurant.
And then she saw her.
Mel.
Valentina’s heart nearly burst out of her chest.
Her eyes widened. Her mouth stopped moving mid-answer to Walker. The whole world seemed to slow down, the restaurant noise turning into a distant hum.
Mel was there.
At the bar.
Wearing a yellow dress that hugged every curve of her body like a second skin. The fabric shimmered under the restaurant’s soft lights, contrasting beautifully with her brown skin. Her hair fell in dark waves over her bare shoulders, and she was leaning against the bar, asking the bartender for something with that smile Valentina knew so well.
“As I was saying, Val.” Walker’s voice continued behind her like an annoying background, “We need to cut the marketing department’s budget and reallocate to—”
Valentina wasn’t listening.
She couldn’t hear anything but the sound of her own heart pounding in her ears.
She’s following me.
It wasn’t a coincidence.
It couldn’t be.
Mel hated this restaurant. She had made that absolutely clear the three times Valentina had tried to bring her here during the relationship.
And that was exactly why Valentina chose this place now.
Because Mel hated it.
Because Mel would never come here of her own accord.
Except she was here.
Now.
Wearing that yellow dress Valentina was sure she had never seen before - which meant Mel had bought it specifically for this occasion.
To be seen.
By her.
Anger began to boil in Valentina’s chest.
How dare she?
Mel turned her head, as if she felt the weight of Valentina’s stare. Their eyes met across the crowded restaurant, and Mel smiled. Then she had the audacity to lift her glass - something pink and fizzy, probably an Aperol Spritz - in a silent toast in Valentina’s direction.
You bitch.
“Val? Are you listening to me?”
Valentina blinked, forcing her attention back to Walker. He looked at her with an expression somewhere between confusion and irritation.
“Sorry, John.” she said, her voice coming out tenser than she intended. “I just... need a moment.”
She stood up before he could answer, grabbed her purse and walked toward the restroom with quick, furious steps. She didn’t look at the bar. She didn’t look at Mel. But she could feel those brown eyes burning into her back, watching her every move.
Valentina pushed the women’s restroom door harder than necessary.
She leaned on the sink, her hands clutching the cold edge, and forced herself to breathe.
She’s following me.
She really is following me.
Valentina should have been scared. She should have been calling security, the police, someone.
This behavior from Mel wasn’t a joke.
It was dangerous.
But all she could feel was a heat spreading through her body. That sick excitement that came from knowing Mel was so obsessed with her she couldn’t stay away.
You’re sick, Valentina told her reflection in the mirror. You two are sick.
Her phone buzzed.
Valentina’s hands trembled as she read the messages.
Anger and desire mixed in her chest in a way that made her dizzy.
She typed and deleted three different replies before finally sending:
Valentina closed her eyes, the phone tight in her hand.
When she finally returned to the table, Mel had disappeared from the bar.
And tucked under the linen napkin on Valentina’s chair was a note written in that familiar cursive handwriting: “You’d look pretty in yellow too. Maybe I’ll buy a dress for you. For when you stop pretending you don’t want me back.”
Valentina balled the paper in her hand, her heart racing, and forced a smile at Walker.
“Sorry for the interruption.” she said, her voice perfectly controlled. “Where were we?”
Thirty minutes later Valentina was saying goodbye to John Walker with vague apologies about a corporate emergency and driving recklessly through the streets. Her hands gripped the wheel so hard her fingers hurt. Her head spun - part anger, part wine, part something more dangerous she didn’t want to name. The city lights blurred in red and yellow streaks as she ran red lights and ignored furious horns.
I’m going to kill her.
I will...
The thought echoed in her mind, feeding the fury burning in her veins.
The car skidded turning the corner, and Valentina didn’t care.
She reached Mel’s building in ten minutes - getting out of the car without even properly locking it, her heels slapping the pavement as she marched toward the entrance. The receptionist - a middle-aged woman named Rosa whom Valentina had seen countless times over the three-year relationship - looked up and her eyes widened.
“Mrs. de Fontaine, I—”
Valentina passed her without stopping, her fingers already punching the elevator code. She knew it by heart. Of course she knew it. Rosa didn’t try to stop her. Despite all the confusion, all the drama, Valentina had been as frequent there as any resident. Maybe more. So the receptionist just waved nervously and went back to her magazine, clearly not wanting to get involved.
The elevator felt like it took forever. Valentina felt claustrophobic in the small cabin, her reflection in the mirrors showing a woman she barely recognized - hair slightly messy, eyes shining with rage and lipstick smudged where she had bitten her lip too hard.
Ding.
The doors opened on the fifth floor.
Valentina walked down the narrow corridor to door number 29 and knocked. Hard. Three times. So hard her hand hurt.
The door opened almost immediately.
Mel stood there, still wearing that damned yellow dress, eyes wide in a mix of surprise and something dangerously close to triumph.
“Val—”
Valentina didn’t let her finish. Her hands grabbed Mel’s neck, pushing her into the apartment. The door slammed behind them with a thud that echoed off the walls.
“You think.” Valentina hissed, her fingers tightening around Mel’s throat. “You can follow me? Threaten me... and get away with it?! Have you lost your fucking mind?!”
“I-I didn’t threaten you!” Mel gasped, but she didn’t try to pull away. “I sent you gifts!”
“Gifts?” Valentina laughed - a rough, humorless sound. “Gifts? Those flowers? You think that’ll win me back that easily?”
“What do you want from me?” Mel asked, her voice breaking, desperate. “Tell me... I’ll do anything to have you back.”
Valentina snorted, a crooked smile pulling at her lips. She looked at Mel - at the way her legs trembled, at the way her eyes shone with unshed tears, at how utterly at Valentina’s mercy she looked.
Perfect.
“God, you’re pathetic as hell, you know that?” Valentina murmured, leaning in closer, her lips almost brushing Mel’s. “You’re nothing without me... you’re just... a little desperate thing.”
“I-I am.” Mel agreed immediately, without hesitation. “I am yours.”
The words hit Valentina like a shock.
She should have been disgusted.
She should have pushed Mel away and left that apartment and never come back.
But instead she found herself asking, “You’d kill someone for me, wouldn’t you?”
The silence that followed was deafening.
Mel didn’t answer right away. Her eyes searched Valentina’s, and something passed through them - something dark, something dangerous, something absolutely honest.
“Yes.” she finally whispered. “I’d kill anyone who tried to take you from me.”
Valentina should have run away from there. She should have done anything other than what she was doing now - looking at Mel as if she were the most beautiful thing she’d ever seen.
“You’re crazy.” Valentina said, but her voice lacked conviction.
“For you.” Mel replied immediately, her eyes never leaving Valentina’s. “Don’t pretend you aren’t like me.”
“No, I’m not, Mel. I don’t act like a fucking psychopath! I didn’t follow you—”
“But you broke into my apartment and...” Mel paused, tilting her head. “You’re here now. With your hands on my throat. Saying you want me to prove I’m yours.”
The truth of those words hit Valentina like a slap.
They were the same.
Two faces of the same sick, obsessive coin.
“Shut up!” Valentina hissed, but she knew Mel was right.
Mel fell silent. Instantly. Completely. Like a well-trained dog waiting for its next command.
Valentina released Mel’s neck, her fingers leaving red marks on the warm skin. She took a deep breath, trying to regain some control over the situation – over herself.
“Kneel.” she ordered, her voice coming out steadier than she felt.
Mel’s smile widened – small, triumphant, utterly surrendered. She dropped to her knees without hesitation, her hands immediately finding Valentina’s legs, clutching, caressing, worshipping.
She looked up, her eyes filled with a devotion that bordered on religious.
“Fuck, I can’t believe I’m doing this.” Valentina muttered to herself, but her hands were already moving into Mel’s hair, tangling in the dark curls. “This doesn’t mean anything, okay? Now take off my panties.”
“Whatever you say, boss.” Mel whispered, her hands sliding up Valentina’s thighs, under the black dress, until she found the delicate lace of her lingerie.
She pulled the fabric down slowly, reverently, her eyes never leaving Valentina’s face. The panties fell around Valentina’s ankles, and Mel helped her step out of them.
Then Mel started to kiss. Gentle, almost chaste kisses, beginning at Valentina’s ankles and moving slowly up her calves.
“Mel...” Valentina breathed, her hands tightening in the younger woman’s hair.
“What is it?” Mel asked, looking up with false innocence that made Valentina’s blood boil. “What do you want, baby?”
“Don’t call me that.” Valentina gritted her teeth, yanking Mel’s hair hard. “Fuck me. Use your tongue inside me, and then put two fingers in.”
Mel nodded obediently, even though Valentina couldn’t see her from that angle. She leaned forward, pushing her head under the dress, and traced her tongue along Valentina’s already wet, hot center. God, Mel thought, nearly moaning at the taste. She had spent three months dreaming of this – having Valentina’s pussy in her mouth again. Her tongue slid along the slick entrance, licking, tasting, memorizing every inch as if it were the last time.
Valentina moaned above her, a low, throaty sound that went straight to Mel’s core. She increased her pace, her tongue working in circles before plunging in, moving in and out in the rhythm she knew would drive Valentina crazy.
Then, as ordered, she slid two fingers into Valentina’s wet entrance.
“F-fuck.” Valentina hissed, her hips moving involuntarily against Mel’s hand. “More... faster.”
Mel obeyed instantly, speeding up. Her fingers pumped in and out, curling at the exact angle she knew would hit that spot that made Valentina see stars. Her tongue never stopped, licking and sucking Valentina’s clit in sync with the movements of her fingers. The obscene sound of wet skin and muffled moans filled the apartment. Valentina’s legs trembled, and Mel had to use her free hand to hold her steady, keeping her in place while she fucked her.
“That’s all you’re good for.” Valentina moaned, her words cruel and cutting, but her voice trembled with pleasure. “You’re nothing to me. Just... a toy.”
The words should have hurt.
They should have wounded Mel.
But instead, they only turned her on more.
Because Mel knew the truth. She knew Valentina was lying – to herself, to the world, but not to Mel. Valentina wouldn’t have driven all the way here in a drunk fury if Mel were just a toy. She wouldn’t have her hands buried in Mel’s hair so hard it hurt. She wouldn’t be moaning like that, completely lost in pleasure only Mel could give.
So Mel accepted the cruel words for what they were – a fragile defense against feelings Valentina didn’t want to admit.
And she worked faster, deeper, adding a third finger, stretching Valentina in a way that tore a surprised cry from her lips.
“Mel—” Valentina gasped, and there was something close to panic in her voice. “I’m gonna— fuck, I’m gonna—”
“Cum for me.” Mel murmured against Valentina’s sensitive skin, her voice muffled but clear. “Come in my mouth. Show me you’re still mine.”
“I’m not—” Valentina started to protest, but then the orgasm hit her so hard it cut off her words.
She screamed – loud, not caring if the neighbors heard – and her entire body convulsed. Her hands yanked Mel’s hair with brutal force, keeping her in place as she rode out the waves of pleasure. Her hips moved erratically, fucking Mel’s mouth and fingers.
Mel didn’t stop. She kept pumping her fingers, kept licking, kept working until Valentina shoved her away with a broken sob.
“Enough.” Valentina panted, her legs finally giving out. She slid down the wall until she was sitting on the floor, her dress wrinkled, hair messy, face flushed and sweaty. “Enough, I can’t take it anymore.”
Mel pulled back slowly, licking her fingers one by one while keeping eye contact.
“You still think I’m just a toy?” Mel asked softly, crawling closer until she was kneeling between Valentina’s open legs.
Valentina didn’t answer.
Mel leaned forward, her lips brushing Valentina’s ear.
“None of those women you’ve been seeing can make you come like this.” She whispered. “None of them know you like I do. None of them love you like I love you.”
“Mel...” Valentina started, but her voice came out weak, without conviction.
“You can pretend all you want.” Mel continued, kissing Valentina’s neck softly. “You can call me a toy, you can say it means nothing. But we both know the truth.”
“And what’s the truth?” Valentina asked, finally finding her voice.
Mel pulled back just enough to look her in the eyes.
“That you’re as obsessed with me as I am with you,” Mel said simply. “And no matter how many times you try to leave me, you’ll always come back.”
🔪
One month later
Silence.
An entire month of absolute silence.
No messages.
No hysterical 3 a.m. calls.
Nothing.
It was as if everything had ended that night – as if Mel had finally gotten what she wanted, had been satisfied, and now moved on.
Valentina should have been happy. That’s what she wanted, right? For Mel to leave her alone. To stop stalking, to stop turning her life into hell. And for them finally to put a full stop on this story and move on with their lives like adults.
No.
That wasn’t what she wanted.
And the realization made her sick.
Valentina sighed, sliding her finger across the screen as she scrolled through Mel’s Instagram for the tenth time today. The photos were from Paris Fashion Week, of course. Mel looked stunning in every picture, posing in front of the Eiffel Tower, smiling at the camera with that confidence that always made Valentina’s heart race. There were photos with Bob, the photographer Mel loved working with. Photos with Yelena, a Russian model Valentina had always found slightly irritating. Photos of Mel alone, staring at the Parisian horizon as if she had not a single worry in the world.
As if Valentina didn’t exist.
Valentina’s heart pounded.
She felt dizzy for a moment, the longing hitting like a wave.
Had Mel… given up? Really given up? On winning her back? On chasing her? On stalking her?
You had a crazy ex who stalked you for nearly three months and then it was over.
You should be happy about that.
Valentina wasn’t.
“Get back in bed.” A sleepy voice called from behind her.
Gabriele. That was her name. A 35-year-old corporate lawyer with platinum blonde hair. Pretty. Smart. Stable. Exactly the kind of woman Valentina should be dating.
And completely, absolutely boring.
It was all too… civilized. Adult. Healthy.
Valentina hated every second.
“I’m coming.” She muttered, without taking her eyes off the phone.
For one last moment, she looked at the last photo of Mel – a selfie in front of the Louvre. Valentina sighed and tossed the phone onto the nightstand, returning to the bed.
One thing Valentina always kept secret was her nature in bed. With all the other women, she was dominant. Controlling. In command. They obeyed her, moaned her name, begged for permission. And Valentina loved it – the power, the control, the way they bent to her will.
But with Mel? With Mel, Valentina was completely, shamefully submissive.
And she missed it.
Valentina spent the next hour making Gabriele come, twice, with skilled fingers and a tongue that knew exactly where to touch. Gabriele screamed her name, scratching Valentina’s back, trembling with pleasure.
And she felt absolutely nothing.
Later, as Gabriele staggered naked toward the bathroom, Valentina sat on the bed and lit a cigarette. She didn’t smoke often – only when stressed, bored, or thinking of Mel.
Lately, she smoked a lot.
The smoke rose in lazy spirals as Valentina picked up her phone again. Her fingers hovered over Mel’s message box.
The last conversation was still there, frozen in time. And after that? Nothing. A month of deafening silence.
Valentina started typing.
Are you okay?
Deleted.
Is Paris beautiful?
Deleted.
I miss you.
Deleted.
She was about to give up when her phone vibrated in her hand.
A new message.
From Mel.
Valentina’s heart stopped.
Valentina looked at the message, the cigarette forgotten between her fingers, ash falling onto the silk sheets.
How did she know?
Valentina looked out the bedroom window, suddenly hyper-aware. Her apartment was on the fifteenth floor. There was no way Mel could see. No way she could know Gabriele was here.
Unless…
She’s still following me.
With trembling hands, Valentina typed:
The reply came within seconds.
Valentina’s blood ran cold.
Valentina looked down – at her own naked body, still warm from recent sex, still unsatisfied despite everything.
I didn’t text. You texted me.
But it was a lie, wasn’t it? Valentina had been looking at Mel’s Instagram the whole time. Thinking of her. Wanting her back.
And Mel always knew.
Valentina looked at the bathroom door. Gabriele was still in the shower, the sound of the water muffling everything else. She had a few minutes.
With trembling fingers, she typed: Now? Nothing.
There was a pause. Valentina could imagine Mel on the other side, eyes darkening, breathing accelerating.
Valentina should have said no. She should have done anything other than what she was doing now – spreading her legs, positioning the phone, taking a photo showing exactly how wet she was, just as Mel asked.
She hit send before she could regret it.
The reply was immediate.
Heat spread through Valentina’s body, concentrated between her legs. She bit her lip, eyes fixed on the screen.
Her fingers went straight to her clit, tracing slow circles as she waited for the reply.
Valentina moaned softly, her fingers moving faster.
Valentina hesitated only a second before answering honestly.
Valentina obeyed, sliding two fingers inside herself with a trembling sigh. It was pathetic—being here, in her own bed, with another woman in the bathroom, fucking herself under the orders of her ex.
And yet, she couldn’t stop.
Valentina’s fingers moved faster, her body arching on the bed. The sound of the shower still echoed from the bathroom, but she could barely hear it over the sound of her own heart pounding.
Valentina moaned in frustration, forcing herself to slow down.
Valentina obeyed, moaning at the loss.
Valentina brought her fingers to her lips, licking, savoring all her taste.
The tone of command hit Valentina right in the center. With trembling hands, she positioned the phone, pressed record, and slid her fingers back inside herself.
She fucked herself quickly, desperately, eyes fixed on the camera, imagining Mel on the other side watching. Her moans were low but audible, and when she whispered “Mel” in a broken, needy tone, she knew she had given Mel exactly what she wanted.
She stopped the video and sent it before she could think better.
Valentina’s fingers moved frantically, and it only took seconds before the orgasm exploded through her. She bit her lip hard to keep from screaming, her body convulsing, her free hand gripping the sheets.
When it finally passed, she lay on the bed, panting, the phone fallen beside her.
A new message arrived.
The sound of the shower stopped.
Valentina quickly deleted the messages, cleared the history, and tossed the phone aside.
When Gabriele came out of the bathroom, smiling and relaxed, Valentina forced a smile back.
“Was I long?” The blonde leaned in to kiss her.
“It was like you never even left.” Valentina kissed her back, lying.
Valentina didn’t break up with Gabriele.
And she knew Mel knew that.
Valentina could feel Mel watching her since she returned from Paris. The ever-present shadow in corners, the car parked across the street, that sense of being surveilled that never left her.
And the evidence became increasingly obvious.
The apartment door was sometimes unlocked when Valentina was sure she had locked it. Some clothes were tossed in the drawers. Her toothbrush had been used – she could see dark strands of hair caught in the bristles. Once, she found a lipstick mark on the bathroom mirror, and it wasn’t a shade she wore.
It was Mel’s.
Valentina should have been terrified.
Instead, she left a new lipstick on the bathroom counter – their favorite shade, that deep red Mel always wore.
A gift. An encouragement.
I know you’re here. I want you here.
They were just playing. Pushing limits. Seeing how far they could go before everything exploded.
Bringing someone else into this iceberg.
Until it cracked.
🔪
That night, Valentina was about to see Gabriele again. A dinner at her apartment — expensive wine, sophisticated food, soft music playing in the background. Nothing she’d prepared herself, of course. Valentina didn’t cook. It was all the work of her private chef, who had come earlier to prepare fresh oysters and truffle risotto.
But it looked perfect for the evening.
The table was set with fine china and lit candles. The city shimmered through the floor‑to‑ceiling windows. Everything was impeccable, controlled, exactly the kind of perfection Valentina liked after too much stress.
“It’s perfect,” Gabriele said, eating more oysters with a pleased smile. “I was thinking… we could move in together! We practically see each other every day now.”
Valentina almost choked on her wine.
Move in together?
“Is that what you want?” Valentina asked, trying to keep her voice neutral.
“Yes!” Gabriele dropped her fork dramatically, her blue eyes shining with excitement. “I‑I know we haven’t known each other long, but… I think I love you.”
The silence that followed was deafening.
Valentina looked at Gabriele – at that beautiful, hopeful face, those blue eyes full of emotion that she couldn’t return.
“Oh.” She finally said. “Okay.”
That was clearly not the answer Gabriele had expected. Her smile faltered.
“It’s okay, you don’t have to say it now,” she added quickly. “Whenever you’re ready.”
“I’ll open another bottle of wine,” Valentina said, standing up with a shrug.
I need to end this.
She sighed, pulling a bottle from the climate‑controlled cellar. Her hands trembled slightly as she held it.
End it today. Now. Before it gets worse.
Valentina returned to the dining room, the bottle in her hand, already forming the words in her head.
But the words died in her throat.
It wasn’t the scene she expected to find.
Mel was there.
Behind Gabriele.
Her hands gripped the blonde’s shoulders with brutal force, and a knife – long, sharp, glinting in the candlelight – was pressed against Gabriele’s throat.
Gabriele’s eyes were wide with terror. She didn’t move. Barely breathed. A thin line of blood was already forming where the blade touched her skin.
Mel looked up, and her eyes met Valentina’s.
She smiled.
“I missed you, baby.” Mel’s voice was soft as velvet – the same tone she used when whispering promises in the dark, when making Valentina beg.
Valentina stood frozen, still holding the wine bottle. Her fingers tightened around the glass until her knuckles turned white. The world seemed to stop. It couldn’t be. But it was – Mel was there, in her dining room, a knife pressed against Gabriele’s pale throat. And despite the dangerous glint in her eyes, despite the insanity of it all, she was as perfect as ever. Dark hair cascading over her shoulders, the tight black dress hugging every curve Valentina knew by heart, red lips curved into a smile that was pure poison and promise.
Okay. Focus. Gabriele’s here too. And she could die.
“Mel…” Valentina began, her voice calmer than it should have been. “What are you doing?”
“Solving a problem,” Mel said simply, as if it were obvious. “I told you to end things with her, Val. You didn’t listen.”
“Please—” Gabriele tried to speak, but her voice came out as a strangled whisper.
“Quiet.” Mel didn’t even look at her. Her eyes were locked on Valentina, burning with an intensity that made the air feel hotter. “I’m not talking to you.”
“Mel, listen—” Valentina took a step forward, setting the wine bottle carefully on the table.
“Val?” Gabriele whimpered, and that was a mistake.
“Val?” Mel pressed the knife harder, and a thin line of red appeared on the pale skin. “You don’t get to call her that!”
“Mel, stop.” Valentina said, her voice firm but not loud. “Let her go. Please.”
“Why?” Mel tilted her head, genuinely curious. “Do you care about her? Really? Because I saw you two together, Val. Saw you smiling at her in that ridiculous restaurant. Saw you touch her hand. And do you know what I realized?” She smiled – a terrible, beautiful smile. “You were bored. Completely bored.”
Valentina didn’t answer, because Mel was right.
“I gave you time.” Mel went on, her voice dropping lower, sharper. “Three months. Three months of hell, Val. I was patient. I waited for you to come back. But you kept going out with these… cheap replacements.” She practically spat the last word. “As if anyone could replace me.”
Gabriele started crying for real now, sobs shaking her body.
“Shut up!” Mel snarled, shaking her. “You have no idea what you’ve stepped into, do you? You think you can just walk into her life and take my place? You think she loves you?” She laughed, a bitter, broken sound. “She doesn’t even know your full last name, sweetheart.”
“Mel, enough.” Valentina said. “I get it, okay? You’re right. I was… I was trying to forget you. But it didn’t work.” She took another step forward. “So let her go. She doesn’t matter. You know she doesn’t matter.”
“No.” Mel smiled – the most beautiful and most terrifying smile Valentina had ever seen. “I don’t think I will. Do you know why?” She paused, savoring the moment. “Because you need to understand something, Val. You need to understand that I’m not joking. When I say you’re mine, I mean it.”
“I know—”
“No, you don’t.” Mel cut her off. “But you will. Do you remember when you asked me, that night, if I’d kill for you?”
“Yes.” Valentina whispered, adrenaline coursing through her body like electricity. She should have been terrified. Calling the police, screaming, doing something. But instead, she stepped closer.
One step.
Two.
Fear.
Desire.
Seeing Mel like that – so confident, so in control, so absolutely dangerous. About to hurt someone for her, because of her. It made Valentina’s body tremble in a way no touch ever had.
"I don’t think you have the guts." Valentina challenged, her voice low and rough, eyes locked on Mel’s. "I think you’re bluffing."
Mel’s eyes gleamed.
"Val, what are you—" Gabriele began, confused, terrified, finally realizing that something was very, very wrong.
With one swift movement – so fast Valentina almost didn’t see – Mel slid the knife across Gabriele’s throat. A clean, deep, final cut. The body hit the carpet with a dull thud. Blood poured out, dark red and hot, spreading across the pretty dinner scene. The candles still flickered. The wine still glimmered in the glasses. And Gabriele was dead on the floor.
Mel crouched down gracefully, as if picking up something she’d dropped. She touched the corpse’s wrist – checking, always so meticulous – and then, keeping her eyes on Valentina, brought her blood-stained fingers to her lips and sucked them slowly.
"There." She said softly. "Problem solved."
Valentina should have been screaming. But when she saw Mel standing there, over the body, face smeared with blood, eyes shining with triumph and obsession and sick love – Valentina crossed the room and kissed her.
So hard.
So desperately.
The taste of copper and wine and Mel flooded her mouth. Her hands grabbed the dark hair, pulling, needing to be closer, always closer. Mel moaned against her lips, dropping the knife with a metallic clatter, and then her hands were everywhere — waist, hips, neck.
"I love you." Mel whispered between kisses, her voice breaking. "I love you so much."
"I love you too, Mel." Valentina answered, and the kiss went on – desperate, hungry, stained with blood. Then she pulled back just enough to look into Mel’s eyes. "Now that I know you’d do anything for me, you can come back."
Mel froze. "Wait... you were testing me?" Her eyes widened as she processed it. "All of this was—"
"To prove that you’d never leave me. That I’ll be the only one in your life." Valentina said calmly, brushing her thumb over Mel’s lower lip, wiping away the blood. "Of course I didn’t want her to die." She glanced at Gabriele’s body on the floor, and there was no remorse in her eyes – only cold, calculating assessment. "But... I needed to know how far you were willing to go for me."
"You..." Mel took a step back, breathing hard. "You knew I was here. You knew what I was going to do."
"I hoped." Valentina corrected with a graceful shrug. "You’re predictable when you’re jealous, darling. The messages, the calls, showing up wherever I go..." She smiled – a smile that rivaled Mel’s in cruelty. "I just needed to push you a little further. To see how far you’d go."
"You manipulated me." Mel said, but there was no anger in her voice – only admiration.
"I tested you." Valentina corrected again, stepping closer. "And you passed, baby. With honors." Her hands came up to cradle Mel’s face, tenderness contrasting with the chill of her words. "Gabriele meant nothing. None of them did. They were just... tools. To bring you back to me. To make you prove your love."
"You’re insane." Mel whispered, but now she was smiling.
"I’m yours." Valentina replied. "And you’re mine. Now I know you’d kill for me. That you’d do anything for me." She kissed Mel again, slowly this time, savoring. "Now you know I’d do anything to have you back. Even sacrifice an innocent."
"She wasn’t that innocent." Mel murmured against her lips. "She knew you’d just gotten out of a relationship. She knew you were mine and didn’t care."
"Always so protective." Valentina smiled. "That’s why I love you."
"Now you know I’d do everything for you." Mel said, her hands gripping Valentina’s waist, pulling her closer. "Everything, Val. Anything you ask."
"I know." Valentina whispered. "And you know I’m as bad as you are. Maybe worse."
"To me you’re perfect." Mel said sincerely.
The blood kept spreading across the floor, the red pool slowly growing around Gabriele’s body. Dinner was cooling on the plates. And they didn’t care. Valentina’s hands were already pulling at Mel’s dress, skillful fingers finding the zipper on her back and sliding it down unhurriedly. She wanted to savor this – the moment when Mel was hers again, completely, irrevocably.
"Here?" Mel asked, but she was already helping, letting the dress fall onto the bloodstained floor. "With her..."
Valentina shrugged and kept kissing Mel, her hands exploring warm skin. Mel responded with the same intensity, fingers tangling in Valentina’s hair, pulling her closer.
Nothing would stop them. Not the corpse on the floor. Not the whole damn world.
She never wanted to be saved from Melissa Gold.
She wanted to drown in her.
And Mel? Mel finally understood that Valentina wasn’t the victim of her obsession.
Valentina was its architect.