Romans & histoires Red Tara

I shouted, pointing toward the dumbasses who were hell-bent on recording the final moments of their lives. Alexander was already charging after them. “Get back inside!” he bellowed. “This isn’t a damn storm-chasing documentary!” Two of our guards followed him, dragging a guy back in by the scruff of his neck. Tara stood with her eyes closed, trembling, not from fear. She was still trying to stop the storm, or at least divert it. I wrapped my arms around her, shielding her from the noise, the stares as some sensed the sudden spike in her aura. Her power was leaking, visible now as little flickers of light skimming over her skin.

“Wills, this is Tara and Elena.” Sandy pulls me over from where I am looking at all of the stunning dresses to the designers, a tall dark haired willowy woman and a petite red head. I hold my hand out to Tara the tall one first, she’s clothed in a wrap dress and red heels, her hair pulled back in a severe ponytail and her lips painted immaculately in red. “Such a pleasure to meet you Wills, my business partner and mate Elena.” She smiles kindly at me and shakes my hand, then gestures to the red-haired woman beside her. She is wearing dark pants and white t-shirt with black vest; black framed glasses perched on her nose.

Tara sees her too, giving her a cold stare and quickly glancing away. She shrugs off her Burberry coat to a maid, exposing a tight red dress hugging her curvy body and showing too much of her cleavage. Her wavy hair is swept to one side. Sparkingly earrings adorn her beautiful and haughty face. Red lips and high heels. She really dresses to kill. Mia suddenly feels like a maid in the simple blue dress she chose. Grabbing a glass of wine from the tray a waiter is holding, Tara pulls her face into a sweet smile and sways to the crowd of male lawyers.

The path bent into the edge of Primrose Park—and the canopy moved. Tara spun, finger tight on the trigger. Growls layered, closer. “It’s not safe,” she said, voice spider-thin. “It’s not safe around here!” Zak took her shoulders. “Look at me. Breathe. You’re okay.” Jake nodded up-trail. “Fastest cut to Cremorne. I used this to get to Redlands. Trust me—it’s a shortcut.” Linda slid in beside Tara. “Can you do this?”

The light was not bright, but it gave off a very seductive atmosphere. Tara was also wearing a light purple dress.

The note read: "You look stunning in red. -D" Seraphina's heart skipped a beat as she reached out to touch the soft, silky fabric. She had a feeling this was going to be a night to remember... Moments later, there was a knock on the door. "Makeup and hair, courtesy of Damien," a cheerful voice announced. In walked a talented stylist, armed with a makeup bag and a hairbrush. Seraphina was taken aback but pleased by the surprise. She sat back and let the stylist work her magic, transforming her face with a natural yet elegant look. A soft, smoky eye, a subtle blush, and a swipe of red lipstick - the final result was stunning.

And nothing but venom in her stare. Zara walked the final look herself. A crimson dress, open-back, stitched with thread made of metal and shadow. The audience rose. Tears. Cheers. And then the lights cut out. Screams. Darkness. And when they turned back on—Marissa was gone. So was Alec. ⸻ Zara didn’t panic. She stormed backstage, yanked off the heels, grabbed the mic from her head stylist. “Where is he?” she hissed. “He was pulled into a phone call by—by someone named Red.”

INVESTIGATION DEPARTMENT STATION – DIANA’S POV We gathered around Mr. Douglas, all eyes on the high-tech display glowing on the desk. The image flickered, zooming in on a red dot pulsing over a location. “Our first target is him,” Douglas said. A photo flashed on the screen, a black man with grey eyes, a devilish deep scar at the top of his nose down to his lips. He was the kind of man they could probably describe as villains in a novel.

Inviting his mistress to our home is an intentional, nasty insult to Tara's memory. It's Lea rubbing her victory in the faces of anyone who actually knew the real Mrs. Jackson. "Don't cause a scene, Alexander," Lea murmurs, feeling the tension giving off my body. I ignore her, my eyes drifting across the room. Tara is standing near the hallway arch, holding a silver tray of appetizers. She is out of that horrible, shapeless sack, wearing the crisp black-and-white uniform designated for events. Her hair is pulled back, exposing the graceful line of her neck.

I meant it as a sincere question but cringed at the harsh tone portrayed. “Well, Tara, I actually need your help,” replied Dustin. “It’s just that all of the wedding arrangements have been made and I need you to help me cancel everything.” “Yeah, I’ll help with whatever you both need.” God you are really testing my strength right now. Please help me through this.