Double Star

13,5 : Carmen.

The evening breeze toyed with the wavy brown locks of the young woman standing by the door of the city's most opulent restaurant, sending them dancing in the twilight. Yet, her crimson dress, clinging to her form just above the knee, refused to yield to the wind's caress, as if it, too, were bound by the weight of her reality.

The dress sculpted every curve of her disciplined body, and the artistry of her makeup lent her the air of a siren—one destined to ensnare any man who dared meet her gaze. But she took no pride in this allure. Like a whispered promise laced with impending sorrow, all of it—her jewels, the lavish perfumes, the silken gowns—was a mere illusion. Hopes built on deceptions. She had learned to wear them like a second skin, to embrace the pretty lies that had become her existence. After all, what is more deceiving than a nightmare dressed as a daydream?

No, she felt no triumph in standing here, in breathing this rarefied air. To mask the quiet disgust gnawing at her, she sought solace in the ember of a cigarette. Perhaps that was why she walked a few steps ahead of her companions—to steal a fleeting taste of the freedom she could never truly grasp.

Inside, the air was thick with wealth and whispered deals, a grand hall where people spoke only the language of money. It suffocated her. Even the cold solitude of her room seemed warmer than this gilded cage filled with the impoverished in spirit. When the businessman she accompanied finally emerged, another powerful mogul at his side, she let her cigarette slip from her fingers, crushing its glow beneath her heel. Then, straightening her spine, she adorned herself with a mask of feigned pleasure.

"Looking forward to seeing you again, Mr. Hammer!"

The thirty-year-old man clasped his partner's hand before gazing at her. In that instant, she regretted extinguishing her cigarette. But instead of recoiling, she smiled—slow, sultry, inviting. A smile sparked jealousy in the model standing nearby, her eyes filled with silent questions: What did she have that I didn't? The answer was simple—Carmen possessed not only beauty but experience. Her motto? "Be beautiful and silent." The more enigmatic you are, the more they will crave you.

Once they parted ways with the contractor and his mistress, Mr. Hammer's arm found its way around her waist as they crossed the parking lot.

"I need a cigarette," she thought, her gaze vacant.

Settled in the car, he finally spoke. "Samuel told me I have a wonderful partner."

She stiffened. She despised their compliments. She knew what they meant, what they sought. It was always the same.

"He asked if you were free," he continued, an amused smirk curling his lips. "I told him no—that you're very busy these days. You won't hold that against me, will you?"

She caught the smirk in the periphery of her vision and felt her stomach turn.

"I really need a fucking cigarette right now," she thought. The sheer loathing she felt for him twisted in her gut. Of all the men she had encountered, he was the vilest. How could such cruelty exist in one being? She despised him. But more than that, she despised herself for knowing him at all.

"No," she answered simply, praying this exchange would end there. But prayers, in her world, rarely reached their destination.

"I think that woman with Samuel wanted you dead," he mused, his tone edged with amusement.

"Oh, really..." She forced a nervous smile. Of course, she had noticed. But she had long since learned to ignore jealous women. She had no interest in competing for a man she neither wanted nor knew.

"It's amusing, isn't it? Even sluts compete among themselves."

The words slashed through her like a blade. A deep, visceral wound. He had struck exactly where it hurt, reducing her to the filth he saw in her. He grinned, relishing her silent agony.

"Because that's what you are, isn't it, Carmen? Or should I call you by your real name—Ashley?"

She froze.

"Yes, that's it! Just a slut. A whore." His laughter echoed in the confined space, a cruel melody that shattered her from within.

Her only wish now was for this night to end.

"You'll spend the night with me, my favorite slut," he declared. His voice, laced with dominance, left no room for defiance. She knew what would happen if she refused. The consequences would be unbearable.

In moments like this, she wished her father were still alive. He—unlike her mother—would never have allowed this fate to claim her.

"No tears, slutty. They'll ruin your makeup." His laughter was sharper this time, tinged with sadistic glee. How? How could a man be this vile? A few tears threatened to spill, but she willed them back.

"I won't be weak in front of him. I won't cry."

But the truth was, she wasn't as strong as she pretended to be. She was merely searching for the lesser evil. Going home meant witnessing her mother's ever-changing parade of strangers, and that was a torment far worse than this man.

"By the way," he said, voice silk-wrapped steel, "I have a special request. Will you be worthy of my expectations, Ashley?"

He seized her hair, yanking her head back. A searing pain shot through her scalp, but she swallowed the scream clawing its way up her throat.

"You don't want to see your little angel swimming in her own blood, do you?" he whispered against her ear.

The world tilted beneath her.

"No, please, I'll do whatever you want, just don't touch her, plea—"

Another yank. Another surge of pain.

"Since when do you give me orders, slut? This is the last time I hear your voice. Understood?"

She nodded, eyes lowered. He smirked, then released her so violently that her head nearly slammed against the window. But she didn't care.

"You only say yes or no. Got it, my sweet little slut?" He traced her cheek with his finger before breaking into that devilish laugh.

Then, with chilling composure, he straightened his tie. "Now, let's get to business. I want the girl."

Her breath caught. "Who?"

"Don't play dumb. The blonde girl you took to visit your little sister."

"Sarah..." she whispered, realization crashing over her.

"Yes, babe. Bring me the girl, and I'll grant you anything you desire."

Her hands trembled. Sarah had been the first person to make her feel seen, to treat her as something more than a shadow. But this man... He was offering her everything—freedom. For the first time, she and the one she loved could be free.

"It won't be hard. She's naïve. Unlike you, the master of deception. Just like your mother, Brooklyn's finest slut."

She clenched her fists.

No, Ashley. You are nothing like her. Nothing.

"So?"

"Is it a promise?" she whispered.

He kissed her neck, stripping away yet another layer of her dignity.

"Of course. I never break my word."

She nodded, looking down.

"Haha. Good girl."

He crushed his lips against hers. She trembled in fear.

Too young for such an old life, her perfume mixed with the scent of gasoline.

She dreamed of another world—one where love was real, where she had a family who would have given her everything.

Trapped between cigarettes and sleepless nights, she whispered through the glass:

"Sorry, Dad..."