Something He Can't Control
892 Words
The morning after, Claire woke up alone.
Not in her apartment. Not in the guest room.
In his bed.
The sheets smelled like him — cedarwood and cool spice. The kind of scent that clung to your skin long after the man was gone. Her legs were tangled in silk, and for a moment, everything felt like a dream she shouldn't have had.
But the bite marks on her shoulder said otherwise.
So did the ache in her thighs.
So did the echo of his voice — whispering her name like it was the only thing grounding him.
She sat up slowly, the sheets sliding down her bare skin, and wrapped herself in the robe he had left folded at the edge of the bed. Navy-blue, just like his eyes.
She was halfway to the kitchen when she heard voices.
Low. Sharp. Male.
She froze just outside the hallway, her bare feet silent against the polished wood floor.
"…I'm not saying you can't have your distractions, Aidan," came a voice — unfamiliar, smug, clearly privileged. "But this girl? Come on."
"I didn't ask for your opinion," Aidan's voice cut in, colder than the arctic.
Claire's chest tightened.
"She's not like the others. You usually pick women who understand the rules. Who don't get… attached."
"She's not one of them," Aidan said flatly.
"Oh, I can see that. She's got the wide eyes. The questions. The hope. You're going to break her."
There was silence. Long. Heavy.
Then Aidan spoke again — but softer this time. More dangerous.
"Get out of my house, Vincent."
Claire didn't wait for more.
She backed away, heart pounding, and quietly slipped back into the bedroom. The moment the front door clicked shut a few minutes later, she pretended to be asleep.
Because she didn't want to ask what she already feared:
> Was she just another "distraction"?
---
Later that morning, Aidan entered the room in slacks and an open shirt, no tie. The man was polished as always, but there was something guarded in the way he moved — like the walls were back up.
"You're awake," he said.
"Barely," Claire murmured, sitting up slowly, careful to keep the robe wrapped tight.
He brought her coffee — not a word about the night before. Not a kiss. Not even a smirk.
Claire took the cup from him and stared down into it. "You always this quiet after you sleep with someone?"
His jaw flexed. "Do you always ask questions you don't want the answers to?"
She raised her gaze. "Try me."
He sat on the edge of the bed, elbows resting on his knees. For a moment, she saw the same man who had held her like she was the only thing keeping him from falling apart.
"I don't… do this," he said. "The waking-up. The talking. The aftermath."
Claire nodded slowly. "But you do the before."
He looked at her. "That was more than before, and you know it."
"You're not saying that like it's a good thing."
"It's not." His voice was sharp. "Not in my world."
She stiffened. "And what am I in your world, exactly?"
He stood. Avoided her eyes. "A complication."
Claire laughed bitterly. "Right. Just a pretty distraction until you find someone who understands the rules."
He froze mid-step. That hit too close.
"I heard you," she added quietly. "Earlier. With Vincent."
His shoulders tensed, but he didn't turn around.
Claire stood slowly, heart thudding. "If I'm going to be just another secret… say it now. If I'm going to be hidden in hallways, forgotten in boardrooms, and erased the second you get bored—say it now. Because I won't survive you halfway."
He turned.
And in his eyes, she saw something terrifying.
Not indifference. Not lust.
But need.
Real. Raw. Unspoken.
"I don't know how to protect you from me," he said softly. "And that scares the hell out of me."
Claire's throat tightened. "Then don't protect me. Just choose me."
But Aidan didn't respond.
He looked at her like he wanted to — like the words were fighting their way out — but he turned and walked out the door without saying a single thing.
---
At Work That Day
Claire tried to be normal. Tried to forget the way his mouth had burned down her spine. Tried to ignore the way every intern whispered when she walked into the room. She didn't know if it was paranoia or something worse — but eyes followed her now.
Especially hers.
Maya.
Aidan's trusted VP. Elegant. Ruthless. Brilliant.
The woman stared at Claire like she knew something. Like she was waiting for a mistake.
"You've been spending a lot of late hours upstairs," Maya said casually as they passed in the hall. "That kind of dedication doesn't go unnoticed."
Claire gave her a tight smile. "I do what's required."
"Mm." Maya's eyes flicked down to Claire's exposed neck. "Just be careful who's doing the requiring."
Claire didn't respond.
But the seed was planted.
Was she being watched? Was it that obvious? Had she already become gossip — a cautionary tale?
Or worse… was Maya jealous?
---
That Night
Claire got home to find another note slipped under her apartment door.
Same writing. Same cryptic tone.
> "You're not the first girl he's ruined. But you might be the last."
- Writer
