The Scent of Her Regret

The house smelled of rain and eucalyptus. Oregon's stormy dusk light poured in through the tall windows of the cottage where Nina and Gloria had holed up — a borrowed place just outside Eugene, nestled among overgrown pines and ferns. The walls were painted in faded sage, the furniture minimalist, but it was the quiet — raw and unfiltered — that cloaked everything. It pressed against their shoulders like grief.

Nina sat on the window bench, legs tucked under her, watching droplets cascade down the glass. Gloria stood in the kitchen, holding a chipped mug of tea, her knuckles white around the handle. They hadn't spoken in twenty-seven minutes.

"I dreamt of her again," Nina finally said.

Gloria didn't ask who. She already knew. Claire.

Nina's voice was low, brittle. "She kissed me like she meant it, even in the dream. But then I woke up, and my mouth still tasted of absence."

Gloria crossed the room slowly and sat beside her. "You're chasing a ghost. She doesn't belong to herself, let alone to you."

"I don't want to belong to her," Nina whispered. "I want her to see me. Choose me. Stop hiding behind Veronica's lips."

Gloria reached out and brushed Nina's damp hair back. "Then stop bleeding for a woman who won't even clean up the mess she left behind."

Nina looked at Gloria then — really looked. Her eyes shimmered, dark and unreadable. "You sound like you've stopped hoping."

Gloria smiled, and it wasn't kind. "I didn't stop hoping. I just started wanting something else."

Their silence cracked with something unspoken.

And then, like waves tipping against each other, their foreheads met.

Nina closed her eyes, and for a moment, there was no Oregon, no Veronica, no Claire.

Just breath.

Just skin.

Just us.

Their kiss came not from hunger but recognition. The kind that tastes like surrender, not conquest. Gloria's hands trembled at Nina's jawline, as if asking permission she had already taken. Nina arched forward, sighing against her lips.

Gloria murmured, "Let me take her out of you."

And when Nina responded with a moan thick with pain, Gloria's lips moved lower — down her throat, grazing her collarbone with slow, reverent desperation.

Back in Meadowridge

Claire sat on Veronica's bed, half-naked, wearing only a crimson robe loosely knotted around her waist. A single candle flickered between them, casting shadows across her face. She held a glass of wine she hadn't touched. Veronica, in a silk slip the color of bone, was watching her with something more dangerous than desire.

"You're quiet tonight," Veronica said, her voice sharp.

Claire smiled without warmth. "I'm thinking about what it costs to keep a woman like you satisfied."

Veronica laughed softly. "You talk like satisfaction is currency. It's not. It's war."

Claire met her gaze, undressing her with more than eyes. "Then let me be your enemy."

Veronica moved forward, her silk dragging along the sheets, and straddled Claire's lap. "You'd lose."

Claire's fingers slipped into her hair, pulled her close. "Or maybe you'd finally feel what it's like to need."

The kiss that followed was not gentle. It was venom tasting venom.

Veronica bit Claire's bottom lip until she whimpered. Claire grabbed her throat lightly, a smirk curling her lips.

"I'm not your pet," she breathed. "I'm your reflection."

Veronica stilled, eyes darkening. "And I am your addiction."

They fell into bed like enemies who fuck to forget the war. Moans rose from them — guttural, unapologetic, as if defiance had a soundtrack.

Meanwhile, in a Portland hotel suite

Evelyn stared at the file on her phone. Photos. Surveillance. Gloria. Nina. Even Margot — alive, thin, bitter-eyed, living under a new name. Evelyn's jaw clenched as her fingers hovered over the screen. Her past was no longer buried — it was in bloom, poisonous and loud.

She looked at herself in the mirror. Her blouse was crisp. Her lipstick flawless. But her eyes…

They belonged to a woman who had once chosen survival over mercy.

"I warned you, Gloria," she whispered.

Behind her, the hotel door creaked open.

It was Daniel.

Evelyn turned slowly, surprised. "What the hell are you doing here?"

Daniel didn't answer immediately. He dropped a manila envelope on the bed.

"Pictures," he said. "Of Claire. With Veronica. I thought you might want leverage."

Evelyn blinked, stunned.

Daniel's smile was cold. "You're not the only one watching."

Back in Oregon

Nina lay half-asleep, wrapped in a tangle of sheets and Gloria's arm. But something pulled her from slumber. A sound.

A tap at the door.

Her body froze.

Gloria stirred. "What is it?"

Nina sat up slowly. "I heard something."

Another tap. Deliberate. Too soft to be wind.

They looked at each other. Then Nina slipped from the bed, pulling on a robe, heart pounding.

She opened the door.

And there — soaked to the bone, lips blue, eyes wide — stood Margot.

Alive.

And haunted.