The Deal We Never Made

UNDER HIS ROOF

Madison POV

I stopped by at Jessica’s apartment. I was too tired to go home. And besides house was more comfortable than mine. Mine looked like a rat house.

Getting to the front door of her apartment with an overdramatic sigh, I walked into her building and made my way to her door. She opened up after the second knock like she knew I was already at the door.

“You’re right on time, Maddie,” she greeted, with humor all written in her tone, she was putting on her usual fray hoodie and shorts.

I sighed, walking inside as I closed the door trying not to make a sound and I shook my head, all before saying, "Whatever.”

Jessica burst out laughing, taking the groceries I bought in the supermarket, making her way to the kitchen. "What happened? Did someone beat you on your way here?"

"I wished someone did, I would proudly beat them to a pulp." I stated as I dropped my bag on the chair and slumped on her couch. "Ethan called a teacher to train me on how to behave like a lady for events.”

"He brought in an etiquette coach? To transform you? Are you kidding me right now?" Jessica’s voice pitched up like a teakettle about to blow. She paced the small kitchen of her apartment in bare feet.

I gave a tiny nod, staring into the beige swirl of liquid like it might whisper back a solution. "You see this etiquette training that Ethan appointed to teach me? Absolute torture. The first time I had to endure an entire day being shouted at by some woman named Celeste, who only thinks am incapable of standing straight."

Jessica stopped pacing and dropped onto the stool beside me. Her eyes were wide with disbelief, but under it, I could already see that determined flicker starting to burn. "You should’ve kneed him in the diamonds."

A humorless laugh escaped me. "Would’ve loved to. But then I'd lose my one chance of proving his family’s behind the crash. Ending up in prison this time."

"Well," replied Jessica, whose voice now rang humorous, "You did sign up to be Ethan Blake's fiancée. Comes with the territory, babe."

I straightened up my posture, rolled my eyes even though she could not see that from my end. "Gosh that Ethan is something else! He's impossible."

"Impossible?" Jessica teased. "Or impossibly hot?"

"Jess!" I screamed her name.

She softened immediately, her hand curling around mine. “Okay. okay. I get it. I do. But you can’t let them rewrite you. You’re Madison Russo. You bite down on truth and don’t let go. Don’t let some rich psychopath in tailored suits and leather floors convince you otherwise."

I wanted to cry. Maybe I already was. Everything felt damp. My eyes. My skin. My lungs.

"He told me I needed to be punished. For embarrassing him."

Jessica’s mouth opened, then snapped shut. She looked like she might genuinely throw something. Then she exhaled hard and squeezed my hand.

"Fine. You want to stay in this? Then do it on your terms. Learn the stupid forks, smile at the snakes, and get what you came for. But don't let them take your spine in the process."

Those words stuck to me like armor. Sighing deeply, I left her in the kitchen to cook as I went to her room to lie down. I rolled over on to one side of the bed and looked at the bright lights of the city.

My eyes began to get really heavy and I found myself moving away from the day's stress and the last thing I remembered was the image of Ethan's piercing gaze and the faintest flutter of something I couldn't quite name.

----

The next morning, I went to my apartment and packed a few things I felt I would need for the day and returned to the penthouse.

When I got there, Celeste was already waiting for me in the sunroom. It was drenched in honeyed light and smelled faintly of oranges and polished wood. She wore dove-gray silk and a single diamond pin in her hair, and looked like she hadn’t blinked since 1994.

"Good morning," she said crisply, like the phrase had edges.

"Define good," I muttered, dropping into the chair across from her.

We started with conversation training. Apparently, I interrupted too much, gestured like I was casting spells, and used the word "seriously" as punctuation.

"You're not being cross-examined," Celeste said after I shot back a sarcastic reply to her fake dinner party question. "You’re supposed to be charming, not combative."

"I am charming," I snapped. "To people who aren’t trying to sand down my personality with a silver spoon."

Celeste's face didn’t flicker. "You're passionate. But passion must be tempered with poise."

By the second hour, we were back to posture. My back ached. My toes hated me. My dignity was clinging to life by dental floss. And then he walked in.

Ethan. In dark slacks and a white shirt rolled up to his elbows, like he’d just stepped out of an expensive cologne ad.

He didn’t say anything at first—just leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed, gaze unreadable.

Celeste stood. “Mr. Blackwell. We’re reviewing conversational decorum.”

His eyes landed on me like a weight. “How’s she doing?”

I stood too, spine straightening with stubborn defiance. “Well, I haven’t stabbed anyone with a salad fork yet, so progress?”

His mouth twitched. “Barely.”

Something in me snapped. "You know, if you'd just wanted a robot, you could've hired one. You didn’t need to drag me into your PR circus."

Celeste opened her mouth—probably to scold me—but Ethan raised a hand. “No, let her speak.”

Dangerous words.

I stepped closer, heat rising to my cheeks. “I agreed to this deal, yeah. But I’m not a doll you can dress up and wind into smiling. You want your company’s image fixed? Then maybe stop acting like you were carved from ice and handed a bank account instead of a soul."

Celeste sucked in a breath. Ethan blinked slowly, jaw flexing. For a second, the whole room held its breath.

Then he moved.

In three strides he was in front of me, and before I could react, his hand was cupping the back of my neck and he kissed me.

Not softly. Not sweetly. It was a war. Of teeth and breath and bruising silence. My hands pressed against his chest instinctively—not to push, not really—but to keep myself from sinking.

When he pulled back, we were both breathing hard. His eyes, storm-dark and burning, stayed locked on mine.

Then he gripped my wrist—gently, but firmly. Like he was anchoring me.

"You make it impossible to stay cold," he muttered, his voice low, almost pained. "And I hate it."

For a second, I forgot what air was. Forgot Celeste was still in the room, stiff as a mannequin. Forgot who I was supposed to be.

And then just like that, he let go. Stepped back. Put walls back up with a blink.

"Lesson’s over," he said sharply, without looking at either of us. “Celeste, reschedule the rest of today.”

She nodded stiffly and vanished, the click of her heels echoing like a clock winding down.

I stood there, heart in my throat, fingers tingling, my body still catching up to what the hell had just happened.

He kissed me.

Not for the press. Not for show.

He kissed me because he wanted to.

And that terrified me more than anything else in this entire twisted arrangement.

---

I took a cab to my apartment after the whole day stress.

The city blurred past my windshield in streaks of amber and steel, a quiet drizzle casting soft halos around every streetlight. My lips still tingled, damn them. Still burned from his kiss—unasked, unexpected, unwanted. But God, why had I kissed him back?

I didn’t have answers. I only had the echo of Ethan’s mouth on mine and the way his eyes had flickered—like something had cracked open inside him before he slammed the door shut again. It wasn’t supposed to happen. That wasn’t part of the deal.

The driver stopped at the parking lot of my apartment complex. I wired my fare to him as I walked out of the car and walked to my apartment.