Tales Of The Heart | (G)i-dle

𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐇𝐞𝐢𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐬 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐒𝐨𝐜𝐢𝐚𝐥 𝐂𝐥𝐢𝐦𝐛𝐞𝐫

The drawing rooms of London in the 1880s were havens for those who lived with the unyielding belief that the higher one’s birth, the more entitled they were to dictate the world’s pace. It was here, amidst opulent gowns and glittering jewels, that the rivalry between Lady Seraphina Ashworth and Yuliya Beaumont unfolded—an enmity that would give way to something far more dangerous and forbidden.

Lady Seraphina Ashworth was every inch the embodiment of aristocratic grace, draped in layers of silk and satin, her skin pale as moonlight, her eyes sharp and calculating. At twenty-three, she was the undisputed queen of London’s high society—a position she had inherited from a lifetime spent basking in privilege. Her tongue was as sharp as the diamonds that glittered on her neck, and her laughter, reserved only for those she deemed worthy, rang like the chiming of an expensive clock. Seraphina knew her worth, and she had little patience for anyone who did not recognize it. But there was one who did not bow to her, one who dared to challenge her effortlessly composed image.

Yuliya Beaumont, a woman of striking beauty but no pedigree to back it, entered society like a storm, determined to carve her place among the titled elite. With her chestnut curls, lively eyes, and charm that could light up the darkest of rooms, Yuliya was quickly becoming the subject of many a whispered conversation. But it wasn’t just her beauty that garnered attention—it was her ambition, a fire that burned brighter than any of the diamonds worn by the ladies of the court.

Their first encounter had taken place at Lady Ashworth’s grand ball, an event that was talked about for weeks. The room had been abuzz with the most eligible men in London, but it was Yuliya, standing at the farthest corner, who had captured the gaze of every gentleman present. Seraphina had noticed her immediately, not with admiration, but with suspicion.

A woman without rank was never meant to garner such attention, especially not from men like Lord Junken Pembroke, who had been vying for Seraphina’s favor for months.

Seraphina had approached with all the elegance of a lioness stalking its prey, her voice cool and cutting. “I do believe, Miss Beaumont, that you are attracting more attention than your station warrants.”

Yuliya had smiled, a sly curve of her lips that hinted at something more dangerous beneath her surface. “And yet, Lady Ashworth, I’ve always found that the most interesting creatures tend to stir the greatest curiosity.”

Seraphina’s eyes narrowed, but there was a flicker of something else, something she refused to acknowledge. “Indeed. But curiosity is a double-edged sword, Miss Beaumont. It often leads to disappointment.”

Their rivalry began as it always did in society—veiled insults, sharp remarks, and a competition for the affections of eligible bachelors. Seraphina, with her aristocratic lineage, her wealth, and her poise, was a favorite among suitors, but Yuliya, with her wit and determination, was an undeniable force.

It wasn’t long before their every encounter was a battleground, their sharp exchanges cutting deeper than any words ought to.

Despite their outward animosity, there was a strange tension that crackled in the air whenever they were in the same room. The men who came to their aid found themselves in the midst of a silent war, caught between two women who, beneath their polished exteriors, were far more alike than either cared to admit. Both were women who knew exactly what they wanted and would stop at nothing to get it.

It was at a private soiree held at the Ashworth estate that the tension finally reached its boiling point. The evening had been a spectacle of glimmering gowns and flirtations, but for the two ladies, it had been little more than a battleground.

As the night wore on, their rivalry had reached a fever pitch, and it was Lord Pembroke who found himself caught between them once again.

Yuliya, having overheard a conversation between Seraphina and Lord Pembroke about a possible engagement, couldn’t suppress the urge to intervene. She approached them with a confident stride, her eyes never leaving Victoria’s.

“Lord Pembroke,” Yuliyah said with a mischievous smile, “I do believe Lady Ashworth’s charms are beginning to wane. Perhaps you’ll find something more stimulating elsewhere.”

Seraphina’s eyes blazed, but her composure remained intact. “Is that so? I didn’t realize that you were an expert in matters of stimulation, Miss Beaumont,” she replied coolly, her voice laced with derision.

The words stung, but it was the fire in Seraphina’s gaze that sent a shiver through Yuliya. There was something in that look—something that went beyond rivalry, beyond spite.

It was a hunger,

unspoken but undeniable.

Lord Pembroke, oblivious to the undercurrent of their interaction, cleared his throat. “Ladies, please, let us not quarrel.”

But it was too late. The dam had broken, and in the silence that followed, something shifted between them.

Later that evening, after the guests had begun to depart, Yuliya found herself alone in a dimly lit hallway, her mind still racing. She hadn’t expected the sharp edge of Seraphina’s words to linger in her thoughts as much as they did. She was used to being the one who left a lasting impression. And yet, with Seraphina, it was as though the rules of the game had changed.

She didn’t hear the footsteps behind her until it was too late.

“Miss Beaumont,” came a voice, low and dangerous.

Yuliya turned, her heart skipping a beat. There, standing in the shadows, was Seraphina—her posture regal, her expression unreadable. But there was something in her eyes, something that spoke of unspoken desires.

“Lady Ashworth,” Yuliya replied, her voice cool despite the sudden flutter of anticipation in her chest.

Seraphina stepped closer, the faintest of smiles tugging at the corners of her lips. “You think you can simply take what you want, don’t you?”

Yuliya met her gaze, her pulse quickening. “I take what I deserve.”

The space between them seemed to shrink with every word, until they were standing so close that Yuliya could feel the heat of Seraphina’s breath against her skin. The walls of propriety, of expectation, seemed to crumble away, leaving only the two of them, locked in a dangerous dance.

And then, without warning, Seraphina’s lips met hers—soft, tentative at first, as though testing the waters of a forbidden affection. Yuliya gasped, her mind racing, her body betraying her with a hunger she hadn’t known she possessed.

But as the kiss deepened, as their hands found one another in a desperate, furious embrace, the world outside ceased to exist.
In that moment, they were no longer enemies, no longer rivals. They were simply two women, caught in the tempest of their own desires, lost in the storm of their passion.

But passion, as they both knew, was a dangerous thing. The world outside would never understand. And so, when they finally pulled away, their breaths ragged, their eyes burning with a mixture of shame and longing, they knew that this would not be the last time they crossed paths. Their rivalry would persist, their hatred would continue to simmer, but beneath it all would lie the truth they had both feared: that sometimes, the most dangerous games were the ones you played with your own heart.

And neither Lady Ashworth nor Lady Beaumont could ever deny that the game was far from over.