Page 55 of Desire

Emma’s stomach clenched, a sinking feeling of dread washing over her as she leaned forward to get a better look at the screen. There, splashed across Kiki’s social media feed, was a montage of Emma’s every misstep and stumble from the roller derby match, each moment captured in humiliating detail. Captions dripping with sarcasm and derision accompanied each clip, painting Emma as a clumsy, uncoordinated fool.

Heat rushed to her face, embarrassment and anger warring for dominance as she watched the mocking footage play out before her eyes. The room around her faded away, the voices of her colleagues reduced to a distant buzz as the weight of Kiki’s cruelty crashed over her like a tidal wave.

She was a meme for clumsiness and being pushed around. Look at all those people sharing and liking those awful posts.

“Anya,” Colleen said, frowning. “This could have waited.”

“Kiki is only doing this for revenge because Dante tossed her out on her keister.”

“She deserved it,” Tee said.

“I could get the lawyers involved,” Colleen said.

“For what?” Anya said, exasperated. “It’s still legal to be a cunt.”

Emma flinched at the harsh word, but she didn’t disagree with Anya’s statement. Her

fingers curled into fists beneath the table, her nails biting into the soft flesh of her palms. She fought to maintain her composure, to keep the tears that burned behind her eyes from spilling over onto her cheeks. Even though Anya had put the phone away, Emma could still see the mocking images portraying her as a fool.

“I...I need a moment,” she managed to choke out, her voice barely above a whisper as she pushed back from the table and fled the room.

She stumbled blindly down the hallway, her vision blurred by the tears she could no longer contain. Bursting into the bathroom, Emma gripped the edges of the sink, her knuckles turning white as she struggled to draw in a deep, shuddering breath. The cold porcelain against her palms grounded her, a lifeline amidst the whirlwind of emotions that threatened to consume her.

The bathroom door creaked open, and Anya’s reflection appeared behind her in the mirror, concern etched into the lines of her face. “Oh, honey,” she murmured, moving to rest a comforting hand on Emma’s shoulder. “Don’t let that vapid little twat get to you. She’s just jealous of your talent and your spirit.”

Emma shook her head, a bitter laugh escaping her lips. “Talent? Spirit? All I see is a girl who can barely stay on her feet, let alone inspire anyone.” The words tasted like ash on her tongue, the insecurities she’d fought so hard to overcome rearing their ugly heads once more.

Anya’s grip tightened, her voice fierce with conviction. “Listen to me, Emma Hartley. You are so much more than a few stumbles on the rink. You are brave, and strong, and resilient. Don’t you dare let anyone make you doubt that, least of all some petty social media starlet with nothing better to do than tear others down.”

Emma wanted to believe her, wanted to cling to the strength and confidence Anya saw within her. But the doubts lingered, insidious whispers in the back of her mind that even Anya’s impassioned words couldn’t entirely silence. She drew in a shaky breath, swiping at the tears that stained her cheeks. “I just...I need some time, Anya. To process all of this, to figure out how to move forward.”

Anya nodded, understanding softening her features. “Take all the time you need, sweetheart. We’re here for you, every step of the way.” She drew Emma into a tight embrace, the warmth of her arms a momentary respite from the turmoil that raged within.

As Anya slipped out of the bathroom, leaving Emma alone with her thoughts, a wave of exhaustion crashed over her. She sagged against the sink, her reflection staring back at her—a lost, broken girl, her dreams of strength and resilience shattered by the cruelty of a few careless keystrokes. In that moment, all she wanted was to disappear, to retreat from the world and the pain that threatened to consume her.

Queen Mab? Who had Emma been trying to kid with that?

But deep within, a flicker of defiance still burned, a stubborn ember that refused to be extinguished. Emma clung to it, a lifeline amidst the darkness, a promise that somehow, someway, she would find the strength to rise above the mockery and the doubts. She just needed time—time to heal, to regroup, to rediscover the fierce, unyielding spirit that had brought her this far.

Emma pulled herself together and returned to the meeting, her emotions tightly leashed as she focused on the tasks at hand. She nodded at Colleen’s suggestions, her pen scratching across her notepad as she jotted down the details for the upcoming fashion shows. The minutes ticked by, each one an eternity as she fought to maintain her composure, the weight of Kiki’s cruel mockery pressing down on her chest like a leaden fist.

When lunchtime finally arrived, Emma excused herself with a tight smile, her steps hurried as she navigated the winding corridors of Couture. She needed Dante, needed his solid presence and unwavering support to anchor her amidst the tempest of her emotions. She found him in his office, hunched over his desk, his brow furrowed in concentration.

Dante glanced up as she entered, his eyes widening as he took in her red-rimmed eyes and trembling lips. “Emma? What’s wrong?” He rose from his chair, concern etched into the lines of his face.

The dam broke then, the tears she had held back for so long spilling down her cheeks in hot, heavy rivulets. Emma stumbled forward, collapsing into Dante’s arms as sobs wracked her slender frame. He held her close, his strong arms encircling her, his hands rubbing soothing circles on her back as she poured out her pain.

“It’s Kiki,” Emma managed between hiccupping breaths. “She made a meme, of me, from the roller derby. Made me look like an asshole in front of the whole world.”

Dante’s jaw clenched, his eyes hardening into flints of obsidian. “Show me.”

With shaking hands, Emma pulled out her phone, the offending images still glaring from the screen. Dante’s face darkened as he scrolled through the posts, his free hand tightening into a fist at his side. “That petty, spiteful little—” He bit off the words, his voice tight with barely suppressed rage.

But as he looked down at Emma, he modified his tone. “Hey,” he murmured, tilting her chin up with a gentle finger. “Don’t let her get to you. She’s just jealous, trying to tear you down because she knows she can’t hold a candle to you.”

Emma shook her head, fresh tears spilling over her lashes. “But what if she’s right?” Her voice wavered, thin and thready with vulnerability. “What if I’m not strong enough, not tough enough to handle this? Maybe I should just quit the team before I embarrass myself even more.”

He cupped her face in his hands, his thumbs brushing away the tears that tracked down her cheeks. “You are one of the strongest, most resilient people I know. You’ve overcome so much, come so far—don’t let one petty bully’s words make you doubt yourself now.”

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