The Want of You

CHAPTER 3: The Condition

I did not sleep that night, not really.

My body lies still but my mind keeps circling back to the same moment, the same pressure at my wrist, the same certainty in his voice when he said my name as if it had already been his to claim. Every time I drift, the sensation returns, a phantom grip tightening just enough to wake me again.

By morning my stomach feels hollow, knotted tight with hunger and dread. I shower longer than usual, letting the water run hot until my skin prickles, scrubbing at my wrists until they ache. The mirror shows nothing unusual, no bruises, no marks, yet I tug my sleeves down all the same when I dress.

Outside, the city feels louder than normal, sharper around the edges. I keep my head down as I walk, moving with the same practiced awareness I use at work, watching reflections in windows, tracking footsteps that linger too long behind me.

No one follows

That should calm me but It doesn't

By late morning my phone buzzes in my pocket, the vibration slicing clean through my nerves. Unknown number. I stare at the screen until it stops, then buzzes again, insistent.

On the fourth call I answer, my voice already tight

“Miss Hale,” a woman says, brisk and composed. “This is Mara from Bellmont Events. We need to discuss last night”

The knot in my stomach pulls tighter

“I was dismissed,” I say carefully. “By the host”

“Yes,” she replies, papers rustling faintly in the background. “Which places us in a difficult position.”

“I did nothing wrong”

“I did not say you did,” she says, measured. “But Mr. Gates has filed a formal complaint”

The words hit harder than I expect, knocking the air from my chest

“About what,” I ask

“Damages, disruption,conduct unbecoming,” she says. “Standard language”

“That is not true”

“There are witnesses,” she replies. “And a very clear account from the client”

Heat crawls up my neck, sharp and humiliating. “What does this mean?”

“It means we are suspending you pending review,” she says. “Without pay.”

My fingers curl around the phone until my knuckles ache

“I need this job,” I say

“I know,” she answers, and for a moment her voice softens. “Which is why I suggest you resolve this”

The line clicks dead

I stand there long after, phone pressed to my ear, the city rushing past me without notice. The familiar calculation starts immediately, numbers stacking and collapsing in my head. Rent due in two weeks. Utilities already stretched thin. Shoes splitting at the soles.

All of it hinging on a man who decided I was worth noticing

I walk for hours that afternoon, letting the streets blur together, trying to outrun the pressure in my chest. Every route feels too open, every crowd too thin. I check my phone more often than I mean to, each vibration sending a spike of adrenaline through my system.

By evening, the message comes

Unknown number

Come to my office tomorrow. 10 a.m

No signature, no explanation

My throat tightens. I type before I think

I am not your employee

The reply arrives almost instantly

No. You are my problem

Cold settles low in my stomach, heavy and immovable

At ten the next morning, I stand in front of his building, glass and steel rising clean and flawless into the sky. Everything about it speaks of order and control. Security waves me through without question, my name already waiting on a list I did not put myself on.

The elevator carries me upward in silence. The numbers tick past steadily, each one tightening the coil in my chest

His office is flooded with light, the city spread wide behind him like an offering. He stands when I enter, jacket perfectly fitted, expression unreadable

“You came,” he says

“I did not have a choice,” I reply

His gaze tracks me slowly, from my face to my hands, lingering at my wrists before lifting again

“You always have a choice,” he says. “You just do not like the price”

Anger flares, sharp enough to steady me. “You are costing me my job”

“You cost yourself that,” he replies calmly. “You drew attention”

“You asked for it”

Something shifts in his eyes, darker now, more focused

“I noticed you,” he says. “That is not the same thing”

I step closer, stopping at the edge of his desk, palms flat against the smooth surface “Fix it.”

He studies me in silence, then nods once

“You want me to withdraw the complaint,” he says

“Yes.”

“And in return,” he asks, “what do I get?”

“Nothing,” I answer

A faint smile curves his mouth

“That is not realistic”

“I will report you,” I say, even as the words sound thin

“For what,” he asks. “Filing a complaint? Inviting you here? Offering resolution?”

Each word lands neatly, untouchable

I feel the ground shift under me

“You enjoy this,” I say

“I enjoy clarity,” he replies “and you are very clear”

He moves around the desk, stopping close enough that I feel his presence like heat against my skin. My pulse stutters despite myself.

“You left without looking back,” he says quietly “That is rare”

“That disappointed you,” I say

“Yes,” he answers, without hesitation

The admission sinks deep, unsettling in its honesty

“I want my job back,” I say

“You will have it,” he replies. “If you agree to one condition”

My stomach tightens. “What condition?”

“Dinner,” he says. “Once.”

“No.”

“Then nothing changes,” he replies

The silence stretches, heavy with consequence, I think of empty cupboards, of overdue notices, of how close I already am to falling

“One dinner,” I say finally, “That is all.”

His eyes sharpen

“Tonight,” he says

“I said one dinner,” I reply “not immediate contro”

“Tonight,” he repeats calmly “before you convince yourself you are not curious”

I swallow hard

“This means nothing,” I say

“It means you will come,” he replies

He steps back, giving me space that feels calculated rather than kind

“You may go,” he says

I turn and leave, heart pounding, the weight of his attention clinging to me even after the doors close behind me.

Outside, the city feels too open, too exposed. I reach my apartment just as my phone vibrates again

A location pin

Wear the blue dress

My fingers still. I do not own a blue dress

Another message appears

I know you do

The hallway feels suddenly narrow as I unlock my door and step inside

The apartment is quiet, unchanged, until my gaze lands on the chair by the window

A garment bag hangs from it.

My breath catches as I cross the room, unzipping it slowly

Inside is a blue dress, silk smooth beneath my fingers, cut with precise restraint, my name stitched neatly onto the tag.

My phone buzzes once more

You have ninety minutes

The truth settles cold and certain in my chest

He did not wait for my answer

He has already been here.