Chapter three- The morning after
1050 Words
Elena woke up sore in all the right places and furious about it
.
Sunlight was slicing through the blinds of her penthouse bedroom, hitting her straight in the eyes. She groaned, rolled over, and immediately felt the ache between her legs. A slow, delicious throb that reminded her exactly whose fault it was.
Alex.
She pressed her face into the pillow and cursed into the cotton. One night. One stupid, reckless night and he was already back under her skin like he’d never left.
Her phone was screaming on the nightstand.
She reached for it blindly and squinted at the screen.
42 missed calls.
87 new messages.
The first one from Maya, her assistant, was in all caps:
BOARD VOTE STILL SIX MONTHS AWAY
BUT SOMETHING HAPPENED LAST NIGHT
CALL ME THE SECOND YOU WAKE UP
Elena sat up slowly. The sheet slipped down to her waist and cool air hit bare skin. She hadn’t bothered with clothes when she got home. She’d walked straight in, dropped the emerald dress on the floor, and fallen face first into bed still smelling like him.
She scrolled.
More texts from Maya.
A few from board members… polite, careful, worried.
And one single message from a number she hadn’t saved but knew by heart now.
Unknown:
You left marks on my shoulder.
I left marks on you.
We’re even.
Coffee. My place. 9 a.m.
– A
Her stomach flipped. She hated that it flipped.
She typed fast.
Elena:
I don’t drink coffee with married men.
The reply came before she could lock the screen.
Unknown:
Camille’s on a plane to Switzerland.
Annulment filed at 7:03 this morning.
I’m not married anymore.
9 a.m. Don’t make me come get you.
She stared at the words until they blurred.
Annulment.
She should feel triumph. She should feel something clean, like victory. Instead she felt shaky and off-balance, like the floor had tilted overnight.
She showered fast, water as hot as she could stand, scrubbing last night off her skin even though part of her didn’t want to. When she stepped out, the mirror was fogged. She wiped a circle with her hand and looked at herself.
Neck: faint red marks where his mouth had been.
Collarbone: a small bruise shaped like a thumbprint.
Thighs: light fingerprints she could still feel when she walked.
She pulled on black trousers and a silk blouse the color of fresh blood. Armor. Hair twisted up tight. Lipstick sharp enough to cut.
By 8:47 she was in the backseat of her car, watching Manhattan roll by. She told herself she was going to his place to end this..whatever this was before it got worse. She almost believed it.
His building was all glass and steel and old money trying to look new. The doorman knew her face now. He nodded and didn’t ask questions.
Top floor. Private elevator.
When the doors opened, Alex was already there.
He looked like hell in the best way: white shirt open at the collar, sleeves rolled up, stubble darker than usual. His hair was messy like he’d run his hands through it too many times. He had a coffee mug in one hand and a stack of papers in the other.
He didn’t smile.
“You came,” he said.
“Don’t get excited,” she answered, stepping past him into the apartment.
It was huge, quiet, all windows and city views. Morning light poured in and made everything look too real.
He set the mug down and held out the papers.
“Annulment,” he said. “Signed by both of us. Effective immediately. Camille wanted out months ago. We just needed a reason to make it public.”
Elena took the papers but didn’t look at them yet.
“Why now?” she asked.
He met her eyes. “Because last night happened. And I’m tired of pretending I don’t want it to happen again.”
Her pulse jumped. She hated that too.
“This doesn’t fix anything,” she said. “Six months from now the board still votes. You still own fifty-one percent. I still want you gone.”
“I know,” he said quietly. “But the old charter has that marriage clause nobody ever uses. If two board members marry, their shares merge. One vote. One Chairman.”
She laughed, short and bitter. “You think I’m going to marry you?”
I think,” he said, stepping closer, “we just spent ten years hating each other so hard we forgot how to stop. And last night proved we’re really good at one thing together.”
He was close enough now that she could smell coffee and cedar and warm skin.
She should leave.
She should slap him.
She should do anything except stand there breathing him in.
Instead she said, “This is insane.”
“Yeah,” he said. “It is.”
He reached up slow, like she might bite, and brushed a loose strand of hair behind her ear.
“Six months,” he said. “We keep doing… whatever this is. Secret. No feelings. Just us trying to burn it out. And when the vote comes, we decide then who walks away with everything.”
She looked at him for a long time.
“You’re still the same arrogant bastard who made me cry in high school,” she said.
“And you’re still the same girl who looked at me like she wanted to kill me or kiss me and never chose,” he said.
The air felt too thick.
She took one step closer.
“Six months,” she said. “No feelings. No promises. And when it’s over, only one of us gets the company.”
“Deal,” he said.
Then he kissed her… no anger this time. Slow. Deep. Like he’d been waiting years to do it right.
When they broke apart, both of them were breathing hard.
“Your place or mine tonight?” he asked against her mouth.
She smiled, small and sharp.
“Mine,” she said. “I want you on my sheets this time.”
He laughed, low and rough, and pulled her back in.
Six months.
She was going to ruin him.
Or let him ruin her.
Maybe both.
- Writer
