The library was already closed. The lights were dim, casting long, eerie shadows between the aisles, and the silence was absolute—except for the soft, repetitive buzz of her phone.

She sat cross-legged between two bookshelves in the philosophy section, where no one ever came. Her screen was lit up with missed calls and unread texts. Most of them were from classmates she no longer spoke to. Lena had made sure of that.

The sound of heels echoed across the linoleum—slow, deliberate, getting closer. Lena always made an entrance.

When she finally appeared, it was like watching a movie in slow motion. Black satin dress, legs too long, eyes too sharp. Her lipstick was still perfect, even at this hour. There was no trace of the wine she'd had at the party, only the usual mix of expensive perfume and something colder.

She didn’t say anything at first. Just looked down at her, her lips curved slightly. Not a smile. A warning.

“You didn’t answer my texts,” Lena said, voice soft but sharp as a blade in silk.

She didn’t respond. Her fingers tightened around her phone.

Lena tilted her head, crouching down until they were face-to-face. “Are you punishing me?” she asked. “That’s cute.”

Her hand reached up to gently stroke her cheek, the way someone might pet a frightened animal. “Baby, don’t do that. You know how that makes me feel. Like I’m not... enough for you.”

Her gaze dropped to the phone. The screen flashed with a name. Just a classmate asking for notes.

Lena’s smile widened. She plucked the phone from her hand like it belonged to her, then casually slipped it into her purse.

“Phones are distractions,” she murmured. “And I don’t like being ignored. You know that.”

Her body was tense, her eyes glassy.

Lena leaned in close, her lips brushing against the shell of her ear. “If you ghost me again,” she whispered, “I’ll post those pictures. The ones you sent me after our special night. Remember?”

She kissed her cheek, the gesture mockingly tender. “You belong to me. That’s what makes you special.”

There was no reply. Just the sound of shallow breathing and the weight of silence growing heavier.

Lena stood up, but instead of walking away, she kicked off her heels and dropped down beside her, folding her long legs neatly. Like they were two girls sneaking out past curfew.

She rested her head on her shoulder.

“You’re so dramatic,” she murmured, almost lazily. “I said I was sorry about earlier. It wasn’t flirting. Eli was just being friendly. You always twist things.”

Her body remained frozen, her eyes blank.

Lena reached for her hand, lacing their fingers together.

“You know what I hate most?” she whispered. “When you make me be the bad guy. I hate it. But you always push me there.”

She smiled, eyes still locked on her like she was studying a painting—something beautiful, fragile, and completely hers.

And just like that, Lena had her again. Bent without breaking, quiet without leaving.

Because Lena always got what she wanted.

And she? She was already too far gone to run.