Chapter 5: The Girl in the Fever Dream

Chapter 5: The Girl in the Fever Dream

She was sixteen. Technically "emancipated." Practically just a girl with keys, a name that wasn't hers anymore, and an apartment no one was supposed to know about. And still, somehow — Uncle Raymond found her.

She didn't know how. Maybe Evan had followed her one day, or maybe one of those fake "family friends" had given her up. Either way, they were at her door. Loud, entitled, and pushing.

"You think you're grown now, huh?" Raymond's voice was smooth, practiced, fake concern dripping from every syllable. "I'm just worried about you, honey. You're not answering calls. I thought maybe you needed help managing everything."

Aria didn't answer. She stood behind the door, breath held, phone clutched in her hand but no one to call. The lawyer said the trust was hers. But if Raymond pushed hard enough, if he found a judge —

"Come on, Aria. Be smart. You don't even know how to handle money. Let me help you."

His fist pounded once, hard.

She flinched.

"Dad says we should've kept you with us," Evan's voice added, quieter but meaner. "But you wanted to play grown - up. We just wanna talk."

She stayed silent.

They eventually left.

But the next day, her bank app glitched. Logged her out. Denied access. She checked again. Error. Tried the help line. No answer. And her stomach twisted the way it used to when the principal asked to "chat."

She knew something was wrong.

What she didn't know? Someone had already intervened.

Across the city, in a studio flooded with artificial lighting and soft synth music, Elara Nyx was mid - interview, answering questions about her new album with sharp wit and a smile too polished to be real. She was seventeen. Stunning. Global. Tired. Every screen in Times Square flashed her face, her voice, her silhouette in leather and lace.

But when her manager handed her a tablet during the break, brows furrowed, she froze.

"Aria Solenne? Oh it's Aria de Mercière" the manager asked. "This name's flagged in an account we cross - monitor. Someone's trying to force emergency access through a family proxy."

Elara barely blinked. "Terminate that request."

"Technically, they have some legal grounds —"

"I said no," she said, her voice like steel. "Flag every transaction. If they try to touch one cent, I want it blocked and buried."

The manager stared at her. "Why do you even —?"

"She's mine," Elara said, flipping the tablet closed. "And they don't get to touch her. Not again."

Aria never knew.

All she felt was exhaustion — heavy, bone - deep, the kind that crawled through her like wet cement. She hadn't eaten in a day. Maybe two. Her head ached like it was full of boiling water. And the apartment — once a lifeline — suddenly felt like a tomb.

She curled on the bed, too hot and too cold, sweat dampening her shirt, her fingers twitching against the worn blanket. The cracked mirror across from her reflected someone barely conscious, eyes glassy, lips parted.

Somewhere between fever and sleep, she thought she heard someone knock. Or maybe the door just… opened.

She didn't know how long passed. Only that hands touched her, gentle but firm, and someone was speaking.

"I've got you," the voice said.

Low. Familiar. Too much like a dream.

She tried to speak, but her mouth was dry. Her throat burned. She could barely move.

The warm but felt cool press of fingers against her cheeks. The brush of a thumb at her jaw.

And then — arms.

Strong arms lifting her off the bed like she weighed nothing. Her fevered brain caught flashes: a black hoodie. A mouth set in focus. Dark with hint of purple long wavy hair, slightly damp from the rain.

Elara — Sister Rara.

No. That couldn't be right. Elara Nyx was a fantasy — album covers and magazine spreads. Movie posters in subway stations. Not here. Not real.

And yet, the arms around her were real. The warmth. The steady, slow heartbeat pressed against her side.

She tried to speak but only managed a sound. The room swam. Then she was lying down again — somewhere softer, warmer, with clean sheets. A hand brushing damp hair from her face.

"You're burning up," the voice said. "Shh. I've got you."

Clothes — wet, stuck to her skin — were gently peeled away. A warm towel dabbed at her neck, her chest, her thighs. The sensation sent shivers through her. Not shame. Not fear. Something else. Her body, even in fever, knew this touch.

Knew her.

A cool glass touched her lips.

"Drink this."

Water. Then something thicker. Medicine.

But it wasn't just swallowed. The next dose came differently — Elara tilted Aria's head up, held the pill to her lips, then followed it with her own mouth. Mouth to mouth. The tablet passed between them, slick with warmth and breath. Intimate. Delirious.

Aria moaned softly, lips parting.

And kissed her.

She didn't even mean to. It just happened. Fevered. Raw. Her fingers brushed Elara's shirt, fisting it. Her tongue slid across Elara's lower lip before she even realized what she was doing.

She felt Elara stiffen — but she didn't pull away.

Instead, she kissed Aria back.

Slowly. Carefully. With the kind of hunger you hide beneath the surface until it's too much.

Aria's fingers curled into long wavy strands of hair, anchoring herself to the only real thing in that heat - drenched haze. Their mouths moved together, soft and electric. Aria whimpered, then licked into the kiss — messy, uncoordinated, like her body had decided she wanted this before her brain could argue.

And Elara let her.

One hand braced at Aria's jaw, steadying her. The other clutched the edge of the bed like she was holding back a storm.

When Aria gasped into her mouth, Elara pulled back — barely — lips flushed, her deep violet — blue eyes darkened, chest rising fast.

"You don't know what you're doing," she whispered.

But her voice cracked, and her hands didn't move.

Aria blinked up at her, fever - hazed. "You're so pretty," she mumbled. "Like… billboard pretty."

Elara laughed once — soft and broken. "Go to sleep, Aria."

She pulled the blankets up, tucked them around her like she was made of glass, and pressed a final kiss to her forehead.

And then she stayed.

Elara sat by the bed the whole night, eyes on the door like someone might still try to take her away.

No one came.

The next morning, Aria woke up warm, safe, and vaguely humiliated.

Her body felt like it had been hit by a truck. Her throat was dry, her skin still hot, but she wasn't in her apartment anymore. She was on a real bed. In a place that smelled like eucalyptus and faint vanilla. There were throw blankets. Candles. A vinyl record softly spinning in the corner.

She sat up slowly, confused and sore and still in someone else's T - shirt. There was a note on the nightstand.

Drink water. Eat the soup. Stay in bed.

— E.

Aria blinked. E? Sister Rara?

She touched her lips without thinking.

She had the vaguest dream — something about a girl. A kiss. The taste of something warm and sweet and stolen.

She shook her head.

"No way," she mumbled. "It was just a dream."

Present Day

Aria stared at the window.

The rain was heavier now, streaking down the glass like tears. Her boots dripped quietly by the door, her coat slung over the chair. The four red flowers still pulsed on the sill, their glow steady and warm.

She didn't know why she was thinking about that week again. Maybe it was the visit to her parents' graves. Maybe it was the look in Selene's eyes. Or maybe it was the cracked mirror — like a signal waking her up.

She sipped her tea slowly, the heat grounding her.

That dream, she realized, had never really faded. She remembered it more than most dreams. The softness. The hands. The mouth.

She touched her lips again, slower this time.

Could it have been real?

She laughed under her breath. "No way."

And yet, she remembered the taste. The texture of a voice she hadn't known. Someone famous. Someone who looked like gold and walked like fire.

Elara. Her sister Rara.

She hadn't thought about her in years. But now — now there was a flicker in her chest she couldn't name. Like a part of her had been marked and left dormant. Waiting.

She opened her phone and stared at the message from Jules.

Jules: Coordinates attached. No pressure. Just let me know you're good.

She typed out a reply, paused, then deleted it.

Something else was coming. She could feel it. Like static in her teeth. Like a pulse under the city.

And somewhere — maybe closer than she thought — Elara was still watching.

Still waiting.

Still protecting her.