Gone Bad

Different

Xavier POV

The penthouse was still, the only sound coming from the low hum of the jazz station echoing through the open-concept living room. The city lights bled through the floor-to-ceiling windows, casting faint shadows across the dark marble.

City lights bled through the floor-to-ceiling windows, casting fractured gold across the black marble floors. I stood at the bar, one hand wrapped around a glass of bourbon I hadn’t tasted in minutes, the other clenched into a fist at my side.

I was losing it. All because of that girl.

A moment later, Elora walked in like a storm dressed in s*x and secrets heels clicking, hips swaying, that familiar smirk playing on her lips like she already knew the ending to a story I hadn’t even written yet.

She moved like smoke fluid, slow and unhurried as if she owned the place, as if she owned me.

She didn’t. Better still not anymore.

“Nice music choice, you always play jazz when you are overthinking ” she said, dropping her clutch on the marble counter. Her tone was casual, but her eyes weren’t. They scanned me in a calculating manner, cat-like always watching for a shift.

"You're quiet tonight," she murmured, dropping her clutch onto the counter. Her eyes, cat-like and calculating, scanned me from under her lashes.

She knew I was off. Elora always knew.

"Just tired." I leaned back on the bar stool, sipping the whiskey I’d poured minutes before she arrived. It burned going down, but not enough.

Elora stepped closer, her dress hugging every curve black silk, no bra, side slit riding dangerously high. She was temptation in designer heels.

“You’re never too tired for me,” she whispered, straddling my lap with practiced ease, her perfume already flooding my senses. Familiar. Predictable. Expensive.

I let my hands slide to her hips. Her skin was warm, her breath hot against my throat. Her lips grazed my jaw. “You miss me?” she purred.

My fingers tightened slightly on her thighs. “You saw me three nights ago.”

She smirked. “And you’ve been acting weird ever since.”

She was right. And she hated not knowing why.

“Tell me,” she said, nipping at my earlobe. “Or I’ll make you tell me.”

She dragged her tongue slowly down my neck, her nails scraping under my shirt.

I exhaled. “Elora …”

“Shh,” she hushed. “Stop thinking, Xavier. You always think too much.”

And then she kissed me hard. Desperate. Like she was trying to reclaim something she felt slipping through her fingers.

My hands moved on instinct. We’d done this a thousand times. Her body was mapped into my muscle memory. I lifted her easily, her legs wrapping around my waist as I carried her to the bedroom.

Clothes fell like dead leaves. The silk dress. My shirt. Her heels. She moaned as I pushed her against the wall, kissing her like I meant it.

But I didn’t.

Not fully.

I was chasing distraction, not desire.

The image of Ava in that damn red dress flashed in my mind those wide, fire-eyed stares, that innocent mouth daring me without saying a word.

What the f**k was she doing in my head?

I slammed Elora against the bedroom door she tugged at my belt, impatient. “Don’t zone out on me,” she snapped, breathless, biting my bottom lip.

“Didn’t plan to.”

I slammed her back against the bed, her hair fanning across the sheets like wildfire. She gasped half pain, half pleasure just the way she liked it.

My mouth found the dip between her breasts, my hand pinning hers above her head.

“You’ve been distant,” she said through panting breaths. “Is there someone else?”

I froze, just for a second.

Then I kissed down her stomach, avoiding the question like a coward.

“Answer me,” she hissed, voice trembling.

I slid two fingers inside her, rougher than usual. She cried out, arching into me, losing her train of thought. Good. She likes it when I lose control.

She didn’t want the truth anyway.

I pushed deeper, mouth finding her pulse point as her legs trembled around me.

“You feel different,” she whispered, brokenly. “You f**k me like you’re not here.”

I paused, hovering over her, eyes locked on hers.

“Then maybe I’m not.”

She blinked, stunned, her chest heaving.

“Is that what you want me to say?” I asked. “That I don’t feel anything anymore?”

Her silence hit harder than her slap ever could.

But then she pulled me back down and kissed me even harder, like she was trying to remind me of what we were.

A lie.

We f****d like two people trying to forget. Fast, furious, and messy. No emotion. Just escape.

She scratched her nails down my back. I gripped her throat, not tight just enough to make her eyes flutter. She liked the control. So did I.

But halfway through, I stopped seeing her.

I saw her instead.

Ava.

With her soft lips. That nervous laugh. The way her cheeks flushed when I got too close. The way she didn’t try to impress me and ended up doing it anyway.

God. Damn her.

I groaned, thrusting harder, chasing the high, pushing Elora over the edge with me but even when she screamed my name, it felt like static.

When it was over, she collapsed beside me, sweaty and smug. She rolled onto her side, trailing her fingers down my chest.

But her voice had shifted.

“You’re slipping, Xavier.”

I said nothing.

“I don’t know what it is. But I know you.” She leaned closer. “And something’s changed.”

I turned to her finally. “Maybe I’m tired of playing house with someone who doesn’t know how to love anything but control.”

Her lips parted. Shocked. Hurt.

But she masked it with a smile.

“And maybe you’re just scared of feeling something real for me again.”

She stood, wrapped herself in the black silk, and looked over her shoulder like a warning.

“Don’t fall for her,” Elora said quietly. “Whoever she is.”

Then she walked out, leaving behind nothing but her perfume and a strange, unfamiliar silence.

I laid there, bare and restless, staring up at the ceiling like it had answers.

But somehow, Ava Creed had just f****d up everything I thought I wanted.