Blades of the Heart: Bound by betrayal...

Chapter 3: Whispers in the Dark

„She walked with fire in her Hair and ice in her veins; he watched, drawn like a moth to a flame"

Akaya's POV

The mirror infront of her was framed with golden light, the bulbs casting a warm, deceptive glow that made her eyes look a little less tired, a little less hollow. Akaya's fingers moved methodically through her hair, the brush catching on tangles she didn't remember getting. Her hair fell in deep waves, a rich, dark red, like blood spilled under moonlight. She liked it that way—vivid, striking, impossible to ignore. It was a shield and a weapon, the first thing people noticed before they saw the cool detachment in her eyes.

She set the brush aside, fingers flexing as she reached for the eyeliner. Black and sharp, it dragged across her eyelids, making her eyes look more intense, more dangerous. She hated these parties—hated the way the lights and music pressed in on her, the way strangers' eyes roamed over her like they had a right to look—but tonight, she was going. She had to. Maybe if she lost herself in the noise and the chaos, she'd stop thinking about him.

She hesitated for a moment, her fingers hovering over the red lipstick, before closing her eyes and applying it in smooth, even strokes. The woman in the mirror looked back at her—cold, perfect, untouchable. It wasn't her, not really, but it would do. This face, this look, would keep everyone at arm's length.

She stood up, pulling on a fitted black dress that clung to her curves and cut just above the knee. A slit along the side revealed glimpses of her thigh as she moved, the fabric shimmering under the soft lights of her room. It was a far cry from the elegant dresses she wore at family events, but it fit the club's atmosphere—dark, seductive, and unapologetically dangerous.

She slipped her feet into heeled boots that made her feel taller, stronger. Her mother would have hated them, but that only made her smile a little. Tonight, she wanted to be anything but the obedient daughter, the well-behaved girl who had played by all the rules. She wanted to be the one who burned everything down just for the thrill of it.

The phone buzzed on her dresser, dragging her from her thoughts. A text from her best friend, Mae, flashed on the screen: "You coming or what? The place is already packed."

She didn't reply, just tossed the phone into her small leather clutch and grabbed her leather jacket—the final touch. The jacket was old, worn-in, and comfortable, a relic of a life she barely remembered, and yet it was the only thing that felt right tonight. She shrugged it on, feeling the familiar weight settle across her shoulders, and glanced back at the mirror one last time.

"Let's get this over with," she muttered to herself, before switching off the lights and heading for the door.

The ride to the club was quick, the city blurring past the tinted windows of the cab. Neon lights and flashing billboards reflected off the glass, casting sharp, fragmented colors across her face. She leaned back against the seat, letting the bass-heavy music that filtered through the car's radio seep into her bones. She knew the city by heart—the narrow streets and hidden corners, the towering skyscrapers and the secrets that lurked between them. This wasn't her territory, not anymore, but it didn't matter. She had chosen to be here, and tonight, she wouldn't let anyone tell her otherwise.

The cab pulled up in front of the club, and she handed the driver a few crumpled bills before stepping out. The night air was cool, a sharp contrast to the oppressive heat of the city's summer days, and she took a deep breath, savoring the moment before plunging into the chaos. The line outside the club was long, a restless mass of people waiting for a chance to drown themselves in music and liquor, but she didn't stop. She didn't need to. She knew the bouncers, knew that the look in her eyes—the one that said she didn't give a damn about anyone or anything—was enough to get her past the velvet rope.