Chapter 3: He Still Wanted In
1573 Words
The restaurant sat on the rooftop of a glass tower — expensive, exclusive, the kind of place you didn’t just book… You were invited to.
The maître d’ knew Stefan by name. He didn’t give a last name. He didn’t need to.
Aisha clung to his arm like it was her birthright.
Anika walked just behind them, quiet, eyes drinking in every inch of marble, every corner that screamed power. The lighting was low, the walls matte black, the tables set wide apart like even the air between them was rich.
She hadn’t planned to be here.
She’d told Aisha she’d just ride along in the car, then stop somewhere for a drink.
But halfway there — watching Aisha laugh too hard, watching Stefan glance her way more than once — Anika leaned forward, hand resting lightly on her stomach.
“I think I’ll join you after all,” she said softly.
Just loud enough for him to hear.
Aisha blinked. “Wait, you—”
But Stefan had already shifted, giving Anika a slow, unreadable look. He didn’t smile. Didn’t speak. Just nodded.
And Aisha?
She couldn’t say no. Not with him sitting right there.
So Anika stayed.
Slid out of the car like she belonged to the evening, silk dress catching the light, face unreadable.
They were seated near the edge, with a skyline view, private, perfect.
Aisha smiled too much.
Stefan spoke too little.
And Anika?
She studied him — not the way Aisha did, like she was trying to impress.
Anika dissected him.
The way he adjusted his watch every time he looked at the menu.
The way his fingers tapped twice on the table before he answered a question.
The way he never let Aisha pour her own wine.
He was in control. Always.
She liked that.
She also knew how to unmake it.
The wine came. Stefan didn’t glance at the menu — just told the waiter the label and year. His voice was smooth, deep. Confident. Like a man who didn’t guess. He knew.
Aisha kept talking. Traffic. Dresses. Some influencers’ divorces. Stefan nodded, but his eyes kept drifting.
To Anika.
She didn’t flirt.
She watched him like she was peeling something back.
Then, quiet but sharp:
“Stefan,” she said, voice low, casual—but direct. “What kind of people do you hate the most?”
Aisha blinked. “That’s random.”
He didn’t think so.
“Inconsiderate people,” he said. “The ones who move through life like they’re the only ones in it. Who hurt others, and just… keep walking.”
He didn’t look at Aisha. He looked at Anika.
And Anika?
She stared back, unflinching.
That was her answer. Exactly her answer.
Something stirred in her chest—something cold, and sharp, and deeply satisfied.
“And you?” he asked.
She didn’t pause. “Same.”
His mouth twitched. Just slightly.
Aisha laughed again, too loudly this time. “Okay, moody philosophers. Can we just eat?”
But her voice cracked a little at the end. Just enough for Anika to catch it.
She saw the shift in her sister’s eyes — the nervous glance toward Stefan, the way her fingers reached for her wine too quickly.
She was losing the room. And she felt it.
Dinner moved on. Food came and went. Aisha talked, but Stefan stopped listening. His answers grew shorter. His gaze lingered longer. And when the check came, he didn’t ask — he just paid.
Like he always did.
Like control was a given.
The ride back was quiet. City lights flickering through tinted glass.
Aisha leaned into him, babbling about some rooftop gallery she wanted to visit next weekend. He hummed in response, distracted.
Anika stayed silent.
Halfway home, Aisha turned. “You’re still good to come over, right?”
Anika nodded. “Yeah. I’ll crash at yours tonight.”
Aisha smiled, satisfied. Like she’d won something. Like she still had Anika tethered.
But when the car finally slowed in front of Aisha’s building, Anika didn’t move.
Aisha reached for her hand. “Come on.”
Anika blinked like she was just now remembering something. She placed a palm on her stomach.
“s**t,” she said. “I forgot my prenatal vitamins. They’re at my place.”
Aisha frowned. “So? You can get them tomorrow—”
“I can’t skip another night,” Anika cut in, sweet but firm. “Doctor’s orders.”
Then, to Stefan: “Would it be too much trouble for your driver to drop me off at mine?”
Stefan looked at her through the rearview mirror. “Not at all.”
Aisha stared. “You literally said—”
“I know. I just remembered.” Anika’s voice was gentle. Apologetic on the surface. But her eyes never blinked.
It was the perfect excuse.
The car door opened.
Aisha stepped out, slammed it harder than necessary, and didn’t look back.
Stefan didn’t say a word.
Neither did Anika.
The moment the door shut behind Aisha, the car felt different. Quieter. Hotter.
Anika shifted slightly, letting the slit of her dress slide higher up her thigh. She didn’t speak. Didn’t even look at him. Just leaned into the silence like it was foreplay.
Stefan finally glanced over. Really looked at her this time.
“You two always this close?”
Anika gave a light shrug. “Depends on the day.”
He didn’t press. Just gave a slow nod, the corner of his mouth lifting — like he already knew the answer.
The city blurred outside the windows, but inside the car, everything felt still. Tight.
“Thanks for the ride,” she said.
“Are you always this polite?”
“Only when I want something.”
He chuckled — low, rich. “I like direct.”
“So do I.”
They pulled up to her building. Anika reached for the door, paused.
“Want to come up?” she asked lightly, like it meant nothing. Like she didn’t already know what it did.
Stefan didn’t speak right away.
“Do you always invite men up after forgetting your vitamins?”
She smiled slowly. “Only when I know they’ll say yes.”
He held her gaze for a second, then let his eyes flick to her stomach — just briefly.
“No,” he said, voice calm. “Thanks for the offer.”
Anika didn’t flinch. Just nodded — like she expected it. Maybe even respected it.
She stepped out, heels tapping against the pavement. The wind caught her dress — a whisper of skin he’d just turned down.
Then the door shut.
Stefan didn’t leave just yet.
He watched her silhouette cross behind the hallway light. Something in his chest pulled.
Inside, Anika dropped her purse. Peeled off her heels. The cold tile met bare feet, grounding her.
She moved toward the kitchen slowly.
Then—glass. Shattering.
Not a cup.
The window.
She turned.
A figure moved in the darkness — fast, solid, wrong.
Her blood chilled before she screamed.
The man was already inside.
Mask on. Breath heavy.
She backed up.
“Where is it?” he growled. “Where the f**k is it?”
She backed up fast, palms up. “I don’t know who you are—”
“Bullshit!” His voice cracked as he advanced. “Don’t play dumb. You were his wife. You know where he stashed it.”
Her heart thudded against her ribs. “Stashed what?”
“The money, b***h! The goddamn money we stole. Two years. For two years, we planned it. He promised we’d split it down the middle.”
He was close now — close enough that she saw his eyes through the mask. Wild. Betrayed. Broken.
“He lied,” the man spat. “f****d my wife. Cleaned out the account. You expect me to believe you didn’t know?”
Anika’s stomach dropped — not from fear, but from fury.
This wasn’t about her.
This was Jeremiah’s mess, chasing her even in death.
“I don’t know anything,” she said carefully. Calm, controlled. “He never mentioned—”
“You’re lying!” he roared. “You knew. You had to. He trusted you. He wouldn’t shut up about how you were his ace.”
He raised something — not a knife. A gun.
“I lost everything because of him. My marriage. My house. And if you’re protecting him…”
His voice cracked. “I’ll end you too.”
Anika’s back hit the wall. Heart racing. Mind spinning.
And that’s when the door burst open behind them.
Stefan.
He moved like violence in a suit.
One second, he was behind the man—
Next, the gun clattered across the floor.
A grunt. A thud. Silence.
The intruder lay groaning, half-conscious, blood leaking from his mouth.
Anika stood barefoot, frozen. Stefan turned to her, breathing hard but steady.
“You okay?”
She nodded, barely.
He looked at the man on the floor. “I don’t know what the f**k you’re mixed up in,” he said, eyes on her now, voice low, steady, “but I can’t help wanting in.”
That made her heart stop.
He didn’t blink. Didn’t pull back.
Her voice came quietly, even.
“Would you still want me…”
“…if I told you I stabbed my husband to death?”
- Writer
