Chapter2;Under one roof
1454 Words
ELENA
I didn't sleep that night.
Every time I closed my eyes, I saw him. Kelvin's silver gaze burning into mine. The way his fingers had deliberately traced my pulse point, as if memorizing my heartbeat. The hatred in his voice warring with something else, something that made my skin flush hot even now, alone in my apartment at three in the morning.
I hated him. I also couldn't stop thinking about him, which made me hate myself.
The dinner had ended in silence after our confrontation. Mom had been mortified, apologizing profusely while Richard assured her it was just first-meeting jitters. Kelvin had disappeared to his study, not bothering to say goodbye.
But as the limo pulled away, I'd looked back at the mansion and seen him. Third floor, corner window. Watching me leave with a face I couldn't read.
My phone buzzed. Mom.
“Can we talk? Coming over with coffee. Don't say no.“
Twenty minutes later, she was at my door with lattes and guilt written all over her face.
"I'm so sorry about last night," she started before I could even let her fully inside. "Kelvin was completely out of line. Richard spoke to him. Apparently, he's... protective. His mother was a gold digger who abandoned them when he was twelve. Took a massive settlement and never looked back."
I paused mid-sip. "Oh."
"It doesn't excuse his behavior," Mom continued, settling onto my secondhand couch. "But Richard thinks once Kelvin gets to know us, sees that we're genuine, he'll come around."
"Mom, are you sure about this? This whole thing feels…"
"Fast? Crazy? Like a fairy tale that can't possibly be real?" She smiled, that same fragile hope from yesterday. "Elena, I've been dying. Slowly, painfully dying, and watching you sacrifice everything to keep me alive. Richard gives me a chance to actually live. And he wants to help you too. Pay off the medical bills, your student loans, give you opportunities—"
"I don't want his money."
"I know, sweetheart. But maybe you could want his son's peace? For my sake?" Her eyes were pleading. "Richard is moving the wedding up. Three weeks from now. And he wants us to move into the estate before then, so we can all adjust to being a family."
The coffee turned to acid in my stomach. "Move in? Mom, I have school, work—"
"The estate is forty minutes from Columbia. Richard's already arranged for a driver to take you anywhere you need and you can quit those horrible jobs. Focus on your studies like you should have been able to all along."
"I can't just—"
"Please, Elena. Three weeks. If it doesn't work, if you're miserable, we'll figure something else out. But give it a chance? For me?"
How could I say no to the woman who had raised me alone, who had worked herself sick to put me through school, who was finally, finally smiling again?
"Three weeks," I agreed, my heart sinking.
I didn't know then that three weeks would change everything.
***
Moving day arrived too quickly.
I'd packed my entire life into four suitcases and two boxes. Everything I owned fit into the trunk of Richard's Mercedes. The realization was depressing and liberating at the same time.
The butler-Martin, showed me to my room. Not just a room. A suite. Bedroom, sitting area, walk-in closet, and a bathroom larger than my entire studio apartment. Floor-to-ceiling windows overlooked manicured gardens and a pool that sparkled in the afternoon sun.
"Mr. Kelvin's suite is in the east wing," Martin informed me. "Mr. Hartwell thought it best to give you both... space."
Space. Right. Because we needed an entire mansion between us to prevent another slap.
Or another one of those charged moments that made my body betray every rational thought.
I spent the afternoon unpacking, trying not to feel like an imposter among the luxury. Mom was down the hall, already settled in with Richard. I could hear their laughter, and it made my chest ache with something complicated.
At six, Martin knocked to inform me dinner was served.
The dining room could seat twenty, but we were just four. Richard at the head, Mom to his right, me across from her, and one empty chair.
"Kelvin is running late," Richard said, checking his watch with a frown. "He's on a conference call with Singapore. He'll join us when he can."
We made it through salad and the main course,
some kind of fancy chicken I was too nervous to properly taste before I heard footsteps in the hall.
Kelvin appeared in the doorway, and my breath caught despite myself.
He'd loosened his tie, rolled up his shirtsleeves to reveal forearms that had no business being that distracting. His hair was disheveled, as if he'd been running his hands through it, and there was a shadow of stubble along his jaw.
His eyes found mine immediately.
"Sorry I'm late," he said, his voice that same controlled baritone that did dangerous things to my pulse. "The merger is more complicated than I thought."
He took his seat, directly next to me. Close enough that I could smell him again, that dark, expensive scent that was starting to haunt my dreams.
"How was your first day, Elena?" Richard asked, clearly trying to keep things civil.
"It's... beautiful. Thank you for your generosity."
"Not generosity," Richard corrected warmly. "Family."
Kelvin's fork scraped against his plate, deliberately loud.
"So, Elena," he said, turning to face me. Up close, his eyes were even more intense. "What are you studying at Columbia? Let me guess. Business? Economics? Something that might be useful in understanding corporate finance and asset management?"
The implication was clear. Gold digger training.
"Art History," I replied coolly. "With a minor in Renaissance Literature. Not particularly useful for anything except working in museums or teaching, which, coincidentally, is exactly what I want to do."
He looked surprise?
"Art History," he repeated. "How... impractical."
"Kelvin," Richard warned.
But I leaned forward, matching Kelvin's intensity. "Not everyone measures worth in dollar signs, Mr. Hartwell. Some of us think preserving human culture and beauty has value beyond a balance sheet."
His eyes narrowed. "Noble. Do you know what else is noble? Honesty. Transparency. Not manipulating sick old men—"
"Kelvin!" Richard slammed his hand on the table.
But I was already standing, my chair scraping back. "Excuse me. I seem to have lost my appetite."
I made it to the hallway before I heard footsteps behind me.
"Running away?" Kelvin's voice echoed in the vast space.
I spun around. "What do you want from me? I can't change your mind about my mother, about me. You've already decided we're villains in your story."
He closed the distance between us in three long strides, backing me against the wall. Not touching, but close enough that I had to tilt my head back to meet his eyes.
"You want to know what I want?" His voice was rough, dangerous. "I want to understand why I can't stop thinking about you. Why you smell like vanilla and rainstorms and it's driving me insane. Why I watched you leave last night and wanted to chase after that damn limo like a madman."
My heart was racing so fast I thought he must be able to hear it.
"You slapped me," he continued, his gaze dropping to my lips. "And instead of being angry, all I could think about was this."
He kissed me.
Hard, desperate, completely wrong.
And I kissed him back.
His hands came up to frame my face, and I gripped his shirt, pulling him closer. It was fury and hunger and something that felt dangerously like fate. His mouth moved against mine like he was drowning and I was air, and I understood…god help me, I understood because I felt exactly the same.
Then reality crashed back.
We broke apart simultaneously, both breathing hard.
"This can't happen," he said, but his thumb was still tracing my bottom lip.
"I know."
"Our parents just got engaged."
"I know."
"If anyone found out."
"I know."
We stared at each other, the air between us crackling with electricity and impossibility.
Then I heard Mom's laugh from the dining room, and shame flooded through me.
I pushed past Kelvin and ran.
I made it to my suite, locked the door, and slid down to the floor.
My phone buzzed. Unknown number.
“My room. Midnight. We need to talk about this. - K“
I should delete it. Block the number. Tell Mom everything and get us both out of this house.
Instead, I typed back:
“Okay.“
And sealed both our fates.
- Writer
