Chapter 5
646 Words
CHAPTER FIVE:
THE OFFER SHE COULDN’T ACCEPT
Morning didn’t chase her away this time.
She woke slowly, tangled in soft sheets, sunlight brushing her bare shoulder. For a moment, she forgot who she was and what she did.
There was only warmth, his arm draped over her waist, his breath steady against her neck.
It felt dangerous.
She shifted, trying to slip free without waking him, but his hold tightened instinctively.
“Stay,” Greyson murmured, still half-asleep.
That single word almost broke her.
She lay there, staring at the ceiling, heart racing. Men didn’t ask her to stay. They paid. They left. Or she did.
When he finally woke fully, his eyes found hers instantly, like he’d been looking for her even in sleep.
“You okay?” Greyson asked.
She nodded, forcing a small smile.
“Yeah.”
But he could tell it wasn’t the whole truth.
They had breakfast together, something so ordinary it felt unreal.
She sat barefoot at his kitchen island, wearing one of his shirts, hair loose and unguarded.
He watched her quietly, committing the image to memory.
This…. this, was what he wanted. Not the secrecy. Not the transactions. Just her, existing in his space like she belonged there.
He set his coffee down and spoke carefully.
“I’ve been thinking.”
She stiffened. She always did when men said that.
“I don’t want you going back,” he continued.
“Not to that life.”
Her fingers curled around the mug.
“You don’t get to decide that.”
“I know.” His voice stayed calm. “That’s why I’m asking.”
She finally looked at him. Really looked.
“And do what?” she asked. “Pretend I’m someone else?”
“No,” he said firmly. “Be exactly who you are, just safer.”
She shook her head. “You can’t save me.”
“I’m not trying to save you,” he said. “I’m trying to stand with you.”
He took a breath. “Quit. Let me support you. Monthly. No strings.”
Silence crashed between them.
Her laugh came out sharp, defensive.
“That’s still strings. Just prettier ones.”
“That’s not fair.”
“Neither is this,” she snapped, standing up.
“You think money fixes everything because it fixes things for you.”
He stood too, frustration flaring. “I think you deserve more than men who see you as disposable.”
“And what?” she shot back. “You think you see me differently?”
“Yes,” he said without hesitation.
That stopped her.
But fear rushed in fast, crushing the fragile hope before it could take root.
“You don’t,” she whispered. “Not really. If you did, you wouldn’t want me once you saw how dirty I am.”
His chest tightened.
“Petra! Don’t say that.”
“It’s true,” she insisted. “I’m addicted to it. The control. The numbness. And men like you? You get tired of women like me.”
She grabbed her clothes, hands shaking. “I won’t be your charity case.”
He reached for her arm. “I’m not asking out of pity.”
She pulled away. “That’s worse.”
By the time he followed her to the door, she was already gone.
That night, his penthouse felt unbearably empty.
Days passed. Then weeks.
No calls. No messages.
She had disappeared again, this time completely.
And this time, he refused to let it end like that.
He made calls. Quiet ones. Dangerous ones. He mobilized people who were used to finding things that didn’t want to be found.
Hotels. Streets. Brothels.
Nothing.
Every dead end made his determination sharper.
Because whatever she believed about herself
He knew one thing with terrifying certainty.
He wasn’t done with her.
Not even close.
- Writer
