Chapter 295 Black Eyes & White Lies

Ella

The dim light of the restroom cast shadows that danced eerily across the ornate walls. I stood there, staring blankly at the face reflected back at me from the gilded mirror. The hushed. whispers of the escorts in the adjacent stalls echoed painfully in my mind, punctuated by the occasional muted giggle from the ballroom outside.

A world of stark contrasts. My heart thudded painfully, each beat. screaming a desperate question. What could I, Ella, do in a world of opulence, where beneath the surface, darkness thrived?

“Ella.” The soft, husky voice in my mind was familiar, comforting. Ema always seemed to speak up when I was in turmoil, a constant friend and source of reason. “These women… they need our help.

I closed my eyes, trying to still the tumultuous emotions raging within. “It’s not our world, Ema. Interfering might bring danger to us and them.”

conviction in her tone. “We are strong, Ella. We are wolf and woman. These women, they’re victims of

with theirs,” I whispered out loud, my voice shaky. “If I do something, there could be dire consequences. Not just for me, but for those

stark contrast to the coldness of my fears. “All you need to do is tell Logan. Perhaps

Logan’s tender touches and sweet words from earlier that night, memories of our dance in

lurking fear, one that had been planted by the whispered tales of the escorts about the unpredictable nature of men tied to the

just like them?” I questioned, my voice barely audible. “What if he’s just playing a part,

trigger, the thing that unveiled his true nature? What if I ended up becoming another whispered tale among these women, another story of a girl who tried to

a reminder of

if we stand by, do

the scent of the perfumed restroom filling my senses. The realization hit me with a clarity that was jolting. Yes, there was danger. Yes, there was uncertainty. But the idea of not acting, of letting another woman suffer without trying to help, felt like a betrayal to

to try. Because the true danger wasn’t

the main area, the voices and laughter from the

once more if I should share. But the memory

One of them…

a hand through his dark hair. The fine lines on his face seemed to deepen, as if he was all too familiar with stories

crossing his features. “Some of these men only see them as objects, thinking their wealth and

countered, my voice shaking. Logan glanced around before leaning closer. “I’ll take care of it,” he promised,

in this city. If anything, giving someone a lesson will be entertainment for most of these

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