Chapter 15:The penthouse
646 Words
*Tuesday, 11:41 PM. Kelvin’s Penthouse. Foyer.*
The door closed.
Click.
Rain on the floor from our shoes.
Silence.
He didn’t let go of my hand.
Water dripped from my hair down my neck.
Soaked emerald dress. Clinging.
His white shirt was transparent.
We looked wrecked.
“Upstairs,” he said. “Dry clothes.”
“No.”
He stopped.
I pulled my hand free.
“Not yet.”
His eyes went black.
“Jenna—”
“Why did you come?” I stepped into him. 1 foot. “The contract is gone. I’m free. You should’ve let me drown.”
“Because you didn’t.” He didn’t step back. “You ripped it. You fought Rose. You took my hand.”
“That’s not love.”
“I never said it was.” His voice was rough. “It’s worse.”
“What’s worse than love?”
“Need.”
The word hit my chest.
He reached up.
Not for my face.
For the zipper at my back.
My breath stopped.
“Don’t touch me,” I whispered.
His fingers froze on the zipper.
“Then tell me to leave.”
I didn’t.
Because I was shaking. Cold. Angry. Alive.
“Your dress is killing you,” he said. Low. “Let me.”
Slow.
He pulled the zipper down.
1 inch.
2 inches.
Cold air on my spine.
I didn’t move.
Didn’t help.
Didn’t stop.
The dress loosened.
Slid off one shoulder.
His knuckles brushed skin.
I flinched.
“Sorry.”
“Don’t be.”
The dress fell to the floor.
I stood there in black lace and rain.
Exposed.
Not to a husband.
To a man.
Kelvin’s eyes went everywhere. Then nowhere.
He pulled off his jacket.
Not his. Mine. The one from the car.
He draped it over my shoulders again.
Covering me.
“I’m not an animal,” he said.
“You killed my dad.”
“I know.”
“You paid my brother.”
“I know.”
“You’re keeping me.”
“I am.”
He stepped back. 3 feet.
Safe distance.
“Go upstairs, Jenna. Dry off. Sleep. Leave in the morning if you want.” He pointed. “No locks. No guards. Door’s open.”
He walked away.
Toward the bar.
Poured whiskey. Didn’t drink.
His back to me.
Giving me the exit.
I should’ve taken it.
I looked at the door.
Then at him.
Broad shoulders. Wet hair. Hands gripping glass so hard I thought it’d break.
The man who destroyed my family.
The man who carried me in the rain.
The man who let me choose.
My feet moved.
Not to the door.
To him.
I stopped behind him.
Close enough to feel heat.
“Why did you let me go?” I asked his back.
He didn’t turn.
“Because if I had to lock you in a cage to keep you, you’d never be mine.” He turned. Slow.
We were 1 foot apart again.
“You want me to stay?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Because when you look at me like that—” His eyes dropped to my mouth. “—like you want to kill me or kiss me, I can’t tell which.”
“Maybe I want both.”
His jaw clenched.
“Then choose.”
He put the glass down.
No touch.
No kiss.
Just waiting.
The penthouse was silent except for rain on the glass.
And my heart.
I reached up.
Not to slap him.
I untied the jacket.
Let it fall.
Back to black lace.
His eyes flared.
“Jenna.” Warning.
“I choose,” I whispered.
I didn’t kiss him.
I stepped past him.
Up the stairs.
Leaving him hard, furious, and undone.
Because prisoners who choose to stay... are dangerous.
And I was done being owned.
---
- Writer
