Threads of Control

Chapter 4

By: NictesWrath

The dim glow of the chandeliers cast long shadows across the grand stairwell of Miranda Priestly's townhouse, the opulence of the space muted by the late hour. It was quiet, save for the low murmur of voices that floated through the stillness, the tension between the two women almost palpable. Cruella de Vil stood with her back against the railing, her black-and-white hair glinting under the soft light, her sharp eyes fixed on Miranda with that familiar, predatory gleam.

Miranda stood a few steps below, her posture as flawless as ever, the weight of years etched into the lines of her face, though they did nothing to diminish her beauty. She had her arms crossed, her chin slightly lifted, that signature air of control firmly in place. But there was something else beneath the surface—something Cruella knew all too well.

"Ah, darling," Cruella purred, her voice low and smooth, dripping with the satisfaction of having pressed the right button. "You and I both know what you want." She took a step down, closer to Miranda, her hand grazing lightly along the railing. "Andrea, hmm?" she said, her smile curling in that dangerous, knowing way. "You've been dancing around it for years. She's right there, always so devoted, so eager to please."

Miranda's eyes flashed with irritation, her lips tightening into a thin line, but she said nothing. She wouldn't give Cruella the satisfaction of a response—not yet. But the way her fingers clenched, just slightly, against her arms, gave her away. She knew it. And, worse, Cruella knew it too.

"Why fight it, Miranda?" Cruella continued, her tone now dripping with mock concern. "You've always taken what you wanted. You're the Miranda Priestly, after all. And you've trained Andrea so well, haven't you? She's practically begging for it. She belongs to you, doesn't she?"

Cruella moved even closer, her voice dipping lower, more intimate. "If you'd just take her, she'd be yours."

Miranda exhaled sharply, the sound cutting through the still air like a knife. "I don't need your insights, 'Ella," she said, her tone icy, each word clipped and deliberate. "Whatever you think you know is irrelevant."

Cruella's smile widened, as if she had been waiting for that exact response. "Oh, darling, but I do know," she said, her voice thick with nostalgia. "I knew you long before you became this polished, untouchable creature the world bows down to. I remember who you were when you weren't Miranda Priestly, the legend. I remember the woman who took what she wanted without hesitation."

Miranda's eyes narrowed, her jaw tightening, but Cruella pressed on, leaning in as if sharing a secret, her breath warm against Miranda's ear. "You were ruthless back then, love. And you loved it."

Miranda's pulse quickened, the memories of their past surfacing despite her best efforts to push them down. She didn't want to think about those days—about the way she had been before she had built herself into the empire she was now. Before she had learned how to control everything, everyone, including herself.

But Cruella had always known how to unearth those buried parts of her. That was their history. Cruella had been there in the early days, when Miranda was still learning how to navigate the ruthless waters of the fashion world. She had shown Miranda the ropes, in more ways than one, and Miranda had taken everything she could from her.

Now, Cruella was back, stirring up the very desires Miranda had spent so long suppressing.

"You haven't changed, Miranda," Cruella whispered, her hand reaching out to brush against Miranda's arm. "You still want control. You still crave it. And Andrea... she's the one thing you haven't let yourself have."

Miranda stiffened, but she didn't pull away. She wouldn't give Cruella the satisfaction of seeing her flinch. But Cruella could see through the mask. She always had.