Chapter 37 Chapter 37: The Ashes Meant for Auren Draven
I stared in horror as the flames crawled across the crimson silk, devouring the beautiful embroidery stitch by stitch. The Red Reign dress twisted and shrank beneath the heat, its once-luxurious fabric curling into blackened edges. The sharp smell of burning silk filled the room, thick and bitter in my lungs. My mind refused to accept what I was seeing. Just hours ago the dress had looked like something meant for a palace ballroom. Now it was collapsing into fire on Elara’s marble floor.
“Elara—!” I gasped, my shock breaking into panic. “The fire will spread!”
Without thinking, I rushed forward. I grabbed the metal tray from the side table and dropped to my knees beside the burning silk, trying to smother the flames before they could reach the carpet near the chaise. My hands hovered desperately over the fire, ready to press the tray down and crush the flames.
“Stop right there.”
Her voice cracked through the room like thunder.
I froze instantly.
Slowly I lifted my head. Elara stood a few steps away, watching me with blazing eyes. The glow of the fire flickered across her face, making her expression look even sharper.
“Elara, the dress—” I tried again.
“I said stop,” she snapped louder, her voice echoing off the walls. “Do you suddenly have trouble hearing, Sera?”
I pulled my hands back slowly, my heart pounding. “But the fire will destroy it completely.”
“That,” she said coldly, “is the whole point.”
The silk crackled again as another strip burned through, the flames licking higher for a moment before settling back down. Elara stepped closer, the sharp click of her heels filling the room as she circled the burning heap like she was inspecting a piece of art.
“Look at it,” she said sharply, gesturing toward the fire. “Go on. Look carefully.”
I swallowed and glanced down again.
“That,” she continued with a bitter laugh, “is what I think of his apology.”
“Elara… it’s an incredibly expensive dress,” I said quietly, unable to stop myself. “Mr. Auren must have spent—”
“Oh spare me,” she snapped, throwing her hand in the air. “Do not start defending that arrogant man in my room.”
“I’m not defending him,” I said quickly.
“Good,” she said sharply. “Because if you were, we’d be having a very different conversation.”
The flames began shrinking as the silk collapsed into charred fragments. Smoke drifted lazily upward toward the ceiling.
Elara folded her arms and watched it burn, her expression dark and furious.
“Does he think I’m impressed by this?” she burst out suddenly. “A dress. A ridiculous, dramatic, over-priced dress sent like some grand apology.”
She laughed harshly.
“As if I’m the kind of woman who forgives a man because he throws silk and money at my door.”
I remained silent, staring at the burning remains.
“That man has some nerve,” she continued angrily, pacing once across the room. “He ignores dinner, embarrasses my family, and then sends this—this theatrical piece of nonsense like it solves everything.”
“Elara, the fire is almost out,” I said cautiously.
“Good,” she replied.
The flames were already weakening, leaving behind a smoldering pile of blackened fabric.
“Once it dies completely,” she said slowly, pointing toward the ruined dress, “you are going to pick up every burnt thread of that pathetic apology.”
I blinked in surprise. “You want me to throw it away?”
Her eyes snapped toward me.
“Did I say throw it away?”
“No, Elara.”
“Then listen carefully.”
She stepped closer, her voice dropping into something colder and far more dangerous.
“You are going to pack those ashes,” she said deliberately, “and send them straight back to the Draven mansion.”
My breath caught.
“You want me to send… the burned dress back?”
“Yes,” she said flatly.
“With a note?” I asked.
Her lips curled slowly into a thin, vicious smile.
“Oh yes,” she said. “A very clear note.”
She walked over to the table, picked up her lighter again, and flicked it open and closed thoughtfully.
“You will write exactly this,” she continued. “Apology not accepted.”
The words landed heavily in the room.
“And Sera,” she added sharply.
“Yes, Elara?”
She turned toward me again, her eyes blazing with a fierce determination.
“Make absolutely sure Auren Draven receives it himself.”
I nodded slowly. “You want him to see what happened to the dress.”
“I want him to understand the message,” she said bitterly.
The final embers of the silk faded into thin gray smoke.
Elara glanced down at the ruined fabric with cold satisfaction.
“Clean that mess up,” she said dismissively, waving her hand toward the floor. “And send it today.”
I looked down at the charred remains that had once been the magnificent Red Reign dress.
“Yes, Elara,” I murmured quietly.
Elara gave the smoking heap one final glance, her expression unreadable now that the fury had spent itself. Then she flicked the last of the ash from her cigarette onto the marble floor beside the ruined silk.
“I expect it to be delivered today,” she said sharply, already turning toward the door.
“Yes, Elara,” I answered quietly.
She didn’t respond again. Her heels struck the marble with crisp, impatient clicks as she crossed the room. A moment later the door opened, then closed behind her with a firm, decisive sound. The silence that followed felt strangely hollow, the smoke from the burned dress still hanging in the air like a ghost of her anger.
For a few seconds I didn’t move.
I simply stood there staring at the charred remains of what had once been the magnificent Red Reign dress. The delicate crimson silk was now twisted into blackened strips and fragile ash, the embroidery reduced to brittle threads clinging stubbornly to what little fabric remained.
A faint curl of smoke still rose from the pile.
I knelt carefully beside it.
The heat was still radiating from the burned fabric, warming the marble beneath my knees. I hesitated before reaching forward, remembering Elara’s command.
Pick up every burnt thread.
Slowly, cautiously, I slid my fingers beneath the edge of the ruined dress.
“Ah—!”
I pulled my hand back instantly as a sharp sting shot through my fingertips. The fabric was still dangerously hot.
I blew lightly on my fingers before trying again, this time gripping only the thicker section of the scorched silk. Even then the heat seeped through the material, biting at my skin.
“Careful, Sera,” I muttered under my breath.
The burned silk crackled faintly as I lifted it from the floor. Pieces of ash drifted down like black snow, scattering across the marble. The once-elegant train now hung in stiff, brittle strips, and the embroidered patterns had warped into strange, twisted shapes.
I found a clean cloth on the nearby table and wrapped it around my hands before lifting the rest of the ruined dress. Even through the cloth I could still feel the warmth of the fire.
“Unbelievable,” I whispered softly, staring at the destroyed garment.
Only hours ago it had been a breathtaking piece of luxury.
Now it looked like the remains of a small disaster.
Carefully, I gathered the charred pieces together and placed them back inside the garment case. Bits of ash clung to the lining, and the smell of smoke followed the fabric like a stubborn shadow.
As I closed the lid slowly, Elara’s final instruction echoed in my mind.
Make sure Auren Draven receives it himself.
I let out a quiet breath, resting my hands briefly on the top of the case.
“Something tells me,” I murmured to the empty room, “he’s not going to enjoy opening this.”