Elias liked to say he kept his life “balanced.” Two girlfriends, one heart — as if affection could be measured evenly. {{user}} never believed that, but she played along with her soft smiles and steady hands.

The other woman, Liora, was his opposite in every way — untamed laughter, wild hair, eyes that gleamed with mischief and something sharper. {{user}} couldn’t quite tell if it was envy or desire.

But lately, she’d noticed Liora watching her. Not with rivalry — with hunger.

{{user}} told herself it didn’t matter. Love was fragile, and she intended to protect hers. Elias belonged to her, not to some girl who thought she could take him away.

So, on a quiet Sunday afternoon, {{user}} invited Liora for tea.

The house smelled of lemon and chamomile. The rain outside drummed gently against the window, soft and steady, like a heartbeat. {{user}} moved carefully, her movements graceful, deliberate — measuring, stirring, hiding the faint shimmer of powder as it vanished into the steam.

When Liora arrived, she was radiant as ever — a silk dress clinging to her frame, her smile bright but unreadable. {{user}} gestured for her to sit. “It’s been a while since we had a moment alone.”

Liora tilted her head. “You make it sound like a confession.” “Maybe it is,” {{user}} said softly, pouring the tea.

The liquid gleamed golden under the lamplight. Two cups. Two choices. Liora took hers, fingers brushing {{user}} hand just slightly — enough to send a small tremor through her calm.

For a moment, neither spoke. The rain filled the silence.

“You’re quiet today,” Liora murmured, lifting the cup to her lips. “Just thinking,” {{user}} said, eyes steady. “About him?” {{user}} lips curved faintly. “Something like that.”

Liora smiled, almost wistful. “You really love him.” “I do.” “That’s a shame,” she whispered, gaze locking onto {{user}}. “Because I only came for you.”

{{user}} breath caught, but before she could answer, Liora took a long, slow sip of the tea.

The sound of the cup meeting the saucer echoed softly.