Elara Stewart has had enough of her previous lovers' infidelity.
A fixture in the modeling world, she carved her path on her own with the meticulous steps of a rising star. Her association with Darling Devils-an up-and-coming lingerie company-propel...
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𝐯. 𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐞 𝐧𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐬𝐡𝐞𝐧𝐚𝐧𝐢𝐠𝐚𝐧𝐬 ──── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ────
The paparazzi trailed us for two blocks until Derek linked our arms, and swiftly guided us down a secluded side street before breaking into a full-out sprint.
My first thought was: I'm going to bust my shit in these heels.
The second: Derek Crimson is insane.
I don't eat any pavement though (or roll an ankle, thank god), and once we're another block away tucked into a small alleyway both breathless and panting, we simply stare at each other. Skin slick with a thin layer of sweat due to running in the summer California heat, his jacket clings to me uncomfortably. How I managed to run for so long in heels...?
Derek's the first to laugh.
A soft chuckle ripples through the air, gradually intensifying as a smile tugs at my lips. Before I know it I'm laughing with him.
We ran three, possibly four blocks. Earning some of the most outrageous stares from strangers casually strolling on the sidewalk.
"I don't think I've ever ran that fast for that long in heels before." I laugh as I clutch my side, lungs burning with each intake of breath.
Derek casually leans against a weathered brick building in the alley, crossing his arms.
"You run in heels often?" Genuine intrigue laces through his words.
I shake my head as a wry smile spreads across my lips. "No. Only when I'm late to shoots, or dodging paparazzi with rockstars in my free time."
He chuckles and bends down to tighten his laces. It clings to the air well after it leaves him, echoing through the empty alleyway.
Regret burns low in my stomach at the thought of what happened to put us in this situation. Humor is long gone. I swallow.
"I'm sorry," Escapes me before I can reevaluate my choice of words. He flicks his eyes to me, pulling at the cords of his left boot, "For putting you in that position earlier at the club. I should've asked how you felt about it before I dragged you out with me."
Loose black strands of his hair sway in tandem with each shake of his head. "Don't be. You're a badass, Elara Stewart."
With one final tug, he finishes retying his boots, stands to his full height, and walks toward me. Derek leaves about a foot of space between us.
