C1: THE INTRODUCTION
PAIRINGS: Dom!oscar x Sub!OC!Eliora
WARNINGS: None!
WC: 0.5k
A/N: From now on these books with OC will be written in the OC POV
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Eliora POV
The club was quieter than usual that night. The air hummed with the low bass of music and murmured laughter, but the energy was softer, more subdued. I stood at the bar, my glass untouched, watching the shifting lights play across the mirrored walls.
I wasn’t nervous. Not exactly. But I wasn’t at ease either. My time with Lando had taught me how to stand still, how to breathe even when my heart raced, how to hold eye contact and not flinch. He’d taught me more than I could ever repay - but I’d known for a while that something was missing.
When he appeared beside me, I didn’t have to turn to know it was him. The air always seemed to change when he walked into a room.
"Still prefer the quiet corners, hm?" he said, sliding onto the stool next to me.
I gave a small smile. "Old habits."
He studied me for a long moment. Then, with the faintest smirk, "You’ve outgrown me."
I blinked. "That’s not..."
"It’s not an insult," he cut in gently. "You’ve learned everything I can give you. And that’s a good thing."
Silence stretched between us. Lando wasn’t wrong - I’d felt it for months, that restless ache, the sense that I’d hit a ceiling I couldn’t see.
He nodded toward the far side of the club. "Come on. There’s someone I want you to meet."
We wove through the low lights and velvet booths until we reached one of the private lounges. It was quieter there, the thrum of the music softened by the thick curtains.
A man sat alone at the table, a glass of something dark in his hand. His posture was easy, relaxed - but there was an alertness in his eyes when he looked up.
Oscar Piastri.
Lando clapped a hand to his shoulder. "This is Eliora. She’s been learning with me for the past year."
Oscar’s gaze flicked to me and lingered, curious but not invasive. "You’ve trained her well," he said. His voice was low, measured. "You can tell."
Lando laughed softly. "She trained herself, mostly. I just pointed her in the right direction."
I felt her pulse quicken. There was something different about Oscar. He didn’t have Lando’s confident smirk or teasing energy; his control was quieter, grounded. He didn’t need to fill the silence.
When Lando excused himself a few minutes later, the air between us shifted.
Oscar tilted his head. "You look like someone who likes to understand things before she commits to them."
"I do," I admitted.
"Good," he said simply. "I prefer people who think before they follow."
He gestured toward the dance floor where the lights pulsed rhythmically. "This place can feel like chaos. But underneath it - everything runs on rules. The question is whether you want to learn new ones."
My heart beat faster, but my voice stayed calm. "Maybe."
Oscar’s mouth curved into the faintest smile. "Maybe’s a start."
He pulled a small card from his jacket and set it on the table between us. No logo, no design - just a number written in neat, precise handwriting.
"If you decide you want to talk," he said, "call me. Don’t think of it as replacing him. Think of it as continuing your education."
And then he stood, finishing his drink in one slow sip before disappearing into the crowd.
I sat there, staring at the card, my reflection fractured in the mirrored wall beside her. I’d come tonight thinking something was ending. Instead, I found herself wondering if it was just beginning.
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