Mirrors And Reflections
1595 Words
Ella's Point Of View
Morning light slipped through the curtain when I woke again.
Kenny was still there, still holding me, like he had spent the whole night guarding me from something I couldn’t see. Although, his eyes were open and he was staring at the door.
Or rather at the locked drawer of the desk beside it.
The same drawer he always kept locked. The one he never let anyone touch.
The one that seemed to hold the ghost of something he couldn’t escape.
His face was carved with so much pain.
Real pain.
“Kenny?” I whispered.
He let go of me suddenly, sitting up like the bed burned him.
His breathing was ragged, like he was fighting something inside.
“I need to go.” he said hoarsely.
“Wait," I tried to stop him from leaving with an upraised arm.
But he was already standing, already pulling on his shirt with shaking hands.
He didn’t look at me.
He didn’t explain.
He didn’t say what was in that drawer.
He just walked to the door, stopped for a single second just long enough for me to see the torment in his eyes and then he left.
I fell asleep again and woke up smiling.
Actually smiles.
Like an i***t.
The sunlight felt softer.
The sheets felt warmer.
And Kenny's scent was still on my skin, clinging to me like the memory of last night.
For one beautiful second, I let myself believe he would be there beside me.
That he’d stayed. That maybe just maybe the man who held me like I mattered would still be lying next to me, breathing slow and steady.
I rolled over. The bed was empty.
The sheets were cold. My smile died instantly.
Of course, he was gone. Because why would Kenny do something normal like stay and cuddle?
No. That would make too much sense.
I sat up, rubbing my face.
“Okay, Ella.” I muttered to myself as my voice returned to me. “Don’t panic. Maybe he’s making breakfast.”
Yeah, I didn’t believe the s**t I said either. It's clear that I just sounded like a broken record.
I got dressed and made my way downstairs, still holding on to a tiny bit of hope.
Maybe he’d look at me differently today.
Maybe he’d smile.
Maybe he’d kiss me.
I stepped into the main hall.
And there he was; Kenny, billionaire, CEO, emotional black hole standing in a crisp suit.
He is scrolling through something on his tablet like he hadn’t just broken my heart and my brain eight hours ago. He didn’t even look up when I walked in.
“Morning.” I greeted him in a soft tone.
Nothing.
Not even a wink from him.
I tried again, this time louder than I was before. “Morning.”
He blinked once.
“You’re late.”
“Late? Late for what?” I looked confused.
“For breakfast. It’s over.” he said bluntly, still staring at his tablet.
My mouth fell open.
“I did what? You never tell me there was a time!”
“I don’t need to.” he said. “There’s a schedule. Stick to it.”
I stared at him. “kenny, are you serious right now?”
“Completely.” His tone was flat, cool, borderline robotic. “You also have a list of tasks for today. Luca will bring it to your room.”
Tasks?
Last night he’d kissed me like I was oxygen.
This morning he was treating me like unpaid staff.
My heart actually hurt.
“So that’s it?”
He finally looked up. His eyes were ice again crystal clear, sharp, distant.
Like the man from last night had been wiped clean.
“Ella, don’t start.” he warned me.
“Don’t start what?” My voice rose. “You disappeared for two days, came back, and,”
“This conversation isn’t happening.” he cut in calmly.
My jaw dropped. “Oh, it’s happening. It is definitely,”
“Ella.” He just said my name. But the tone. The warning.
It shut me up for a second. He turned to walk past me.
Something snapped inside me.
“Are you walking away now?” I shouted after him. “You’re acting like last night didn’t happen!”
He paused mid-step. His shoulders tightened just a little, but he didn’t turn around. “Ella. Drop it.”
“No.” I refused to let go of the situation.
He finally faced me.
“I said drop it now.”
The coldness in his voice sliced straight through me. I took a shaking breath.
“You can’t do this. You can’t pull me close one night and freeze me out the next morning. I’m not a switch you flip on and off.” I lamented.
His jaw clenched, but his face stayed blank. “You’re making assumptions that don’t matter.”
“Oh, wow.” I snapped. “That’s great. Thank you. So happy to know my feelings ‘don’t matter’.”
He didn’t correct me. He didn’t say they did matter.
He didn’t say anything. He just walked away and something inside me. Something small and stupid and hopeful broke clean in half.
I didn’t cry. Not at first.
I marched straight to his study, kicked the door open, ready to scream at him until he finally acted human again. But the room was empty.
Of course, it was. He’d vanished again. My anger rose like steam.
“Coward.” I breathed, pacing. “You're emotional, cold, frustrating…ugh!”
My eyes landed on the decorative jade lion on his desk.
Big.
Heavy.
And shaped perfectly for throwing. I grabbed it.
“This.” I announced to the empty room, “It's going to make me feel better.”
I raised it over my head, aiming at the floor or maybe the fireplace or maybe the universe.
Then I felt a small click under my finger. I froze.
Slowly, I lowered the lion and turned it upside down.
There on the base was a tiny square panel. And it slid open.
“What the…” I halted.
Inside was a small brass key. Cold. Heavy. Old. My breath caught.
“What are you?” I whispered, lifting it carefully.
The metal chilled my palm. My heart started beating faster, not romantically. In a very, very wrong kind of way.
I stared at the key. Then I slowly turned toward Adrian’s desk drawer.
The locked drawer.
The one he guarded like a dragon guarding treasure.
The drawer he looked at with panic, guilt, and pain. The drawer that held the thing he feared most.
A chill ran up my spine.
“Oh no.” I whispered.
“Oh, Ella, what did you just find?”
The key sat in my palm like a secret that could burn everything down and for the first time since I came into this house.
I felt afraid.
I saw the Harbinger of death flashing right before my eyes.
The key burned in my pocket.
Not literally.
But every time I thought about it, it felt like a tiny, heavy coal pressing against my palm.
I carried it everywhere, even to the kitchen while making a cup of tea, even to my room when I couldn’t sleep, and even while polishing the endless surfaces of the penthouse like some overworked maid in a bad romance novel.
It had been days since I’d discovered it, and I couldn’t stop thinking about it.
I tried to focus, to convince myself it wasn’t my business, that Kenny's privacy was his own, that maybe some things were better left locked.
I really, really tried. But the truth was, I was dying to know.
Every time he touched me, the world shifted.
Every brush of his hand on my back.
Every adjustment of my posture.
Every accidental, not-so-accidental bump against me made me question everything.
Was it caring?
Was it a habit?
Was it part of his endless, frustrating control game?
Or was it real? That question nagged like a toothache I couldn’t reach.
I’d caught myself staring at him a few times when he didn’t notice me watching the way his jaw tightened.
When he was deep in thought, the slight twitch in his brow when he was irritated, and the way his dark eyes seemed to burn right through me whenever we locked gazes.
My stomach lurched with both desire and fear.
He was a walking contradiction: commanding, possessive, controlling and yet, sometimes, raw and unpredictable, and entirely, maddeningly human.
Then there was Callum.
Oh, Callum.
Callum had invited me out for coffee one afternoon, insisting it was “just a casual break” from the fortress Kenny had built around me.
He was warm, charming, with a smile that made me feel lighter than I had in months.
I couldn’t help but laugh at his jokes, the kind of effortless humour that made me forget the penthouse, the rules, and most importantly Adrian.
“You look like you could use a normal afternoon.” Callum had said, leaning across the small table at the café.
I smiled weakly, stirring my coffee a little
too hard.
“Normal? What’s that? I haven’t seen that ever?”
“You deserve it.” he said, and the sincerity in his tone made my chest ache.
For a fleeting moment, I almost let myself imagine a life that wasn’t dictated by his moods or the walls of his skyscraper.
- Writer
