Tainted

Whelve

Whelve| to bury something deep; to hide
—
Ariadne

I don't consider myself a jealous person. There's never been much in my life to provoke that kind of feeling. But as I watch this girl cling to Romeo, holding onto him as if he's the source of her very existence, I can feel the jealousy rising in me, sharp and unexpected. It coils in my chest, tightening with every passing second she stays in his arms.

She doesn't seem in any hurry to let go, her grip on him firm, almost possessive. Romeo, however, is less patient. He clears his throat, the sound cutting through the room's silence, and gently pushes her off him. His expression shifts from one of brief warmth to irritation. "Didn't we agree you'd start letting me know before you showed up?" He says, his voice cool, eyes narrowing in clear displeasure.

The girl doesn't seem fazed by his tone. She shrugs nonchalantly, her hair—dark and glossy, almost like Romeo's—cascading over her shoulders. "Valerio said you'd be okay with it," she replies, her smile sweet and seemingly innocent, though her gaze remains fixed on Romeo with unwavering attention, as if she's challenging him to contradict her.

Romeo's expression hardens further. His voice turns dry, devoid of any warmth. "You mean you manipulated Valerio into thinking I'd be okay with it?" His words are flat, unamused, and it's clear he's not buying her innocent act.

I force myself to look away from them, the scene only fueling the jealousy simmering inside me. My gaze lands on Alessio, and I'm taken aback by what I see. His eyes are locked on the girl, but not with the same irritation or coldness that Romeo displayed. Instead, there's a raw, intense desire in his expression, one I hadn't expected to find. It's almost predatory, a look that hints at something more than casual interest.

The girl's presence seems to be stirring emotions in everyone, and as much as I try to push down my own feelings, the jealousy and unease refuse to fade.

"Aren't you happy to see me?" she huffs, her voice carrying a note of irritation as she crosses her arms over her chest, clearly miffed that Romeo would even dare to question her presence. There's a petulant edge to her tone, like a child who's used to getting her way and can't understand why she's being reprimanded.

Romeo's gaze hardens, his eyes narrowing as he speaks. "Milena," he says, his voice low and sharp, a clear warning embedded in that single word. The way he says her name sends a chill through the room, as if he's reminding her of the boundaries she's perilously close to crossing. It's a tone that suggests she should know better, that challenging him is a mistake she doesn't want to make.

But Milena doesn't seem fazed. Instead, she turns her attention away from him, dismissing his warning with a casual shrug as though it's nothing more than a minor inconvenience. Her gaze lands on me, and I can feel her eyes raking over every inch of me, from the top of my head down to my feet. There's a slight curl to her lips, a mix of curiosity and something darker—maybe disdain, maybe jealousy.

"And who's this?" she asks, her voice dripping with condescension as she sizes me up. It's clear she views me as an outsider, someone who doesn't belong in her world. The way she ignores Romeo's warning and directs her focus to me feels like a deliberate move, as if she's asserting her own dominance in this space.

I look from her to Romeo, searching his face for any sign that he might step in and answer for me. But his expression remains cold and distant, offering no help. The silence stretches, and it becomes clear that he has no intention of stepping in. Swallowing down the nervous flutter in my chest, I meet her gaze head-on. "Ariadne," I say, keeping my voice calm and steady, though the turmoil beneath the surface threatens to break through.

Milena's brows shoot up in surprise, a flash of recognition sparking in her eyes. Her lips curl into a slow, contemptuous smile that's more sneer than anything else. "The Greco girl?" she echoes, her voice dripping with venom. The way she says it, as if my name is something distasteful she'd rather spit out, sends a jolt of anger through me.