chapter 12: Lines We Shouldn't Cross
1043 Words
Bonny’s POV
The ride back to the penthouse was too quiet.
Not hostile quiet.
Not awkward quiet.
Worse.
Aware quiet.
My hand still remembered the warmth of his.
My mind still remembered the sentence:
I thought choosing you did.
I stared out the window and disliked how often I replayed it.
Beside me, Adrian worked on his phone as if emotional damage could be multitasked.
Typical.
When we reached the penthouse, I headed straight for the hallway.
“Bonny.”
I stopped but didn’t turn.
“What?”
“You’re still angry.”
I faced him.
“You’re still manipulative.”
“That’s not an answer.”
“It’s a diagnosis.”
He removed his jacket slowly.
“You enjoy conflict.”
“I enjoy clarity.”
“Then ask clearer questions.”
I crossed my arms.
“Fine. Why me?”
His expression sharpened.
“You’ve asked versions of that repeatedly.”
“Because you keep answering around it.”
For a long moment, he said nothing.
Then:
“You were desperate enough to accept.”
The words hit like a slap.
My face hardened instantly.
“Understood.”
I turned.
“Bonny.”
I kept walking.
“Bonny.”
I spun around.
“What? More elegant insults?”
His jaw tightened.
“That was incomplete.”
“No, it was honest.”
“It was strategic.”
“Same thing to you, apparently.”
I walked to my room and shut the door harder than necessary.
Then locked it.
Twice.
---
I hated him.
At least that was easier to believe than what I actually felt.
I changed into sleep clothes, washed my face, and paced the room like a woman with no self-respect.
Why did his opinion matter?
Why did one cruel sentence erase ten decent moments?
Why was I expecting decency from Adrian Knight in the first place?
A knock sounded.
I ignored it.
Another knock.
Then:
“Bonny.”
His voice through the door.
Low.
Controlled.
I stayed silent.
“I know you’re awake.”
“Use your gifts elsewhere.”
A pause.
Then:
“Open the door.”
“No.”
“I dislike apologizing through wood.”
I froze.
Then narrowed my eyes at the door as if it had betrayed me personally.
“You’re apologizing?”
“Yes.”
“Poorly.”
“Open the door and improve the conditions.”
Against my better judgment, curiosity won.
I unlocked it and opened the door halfway.
He stood there without his jacket, tie gone, sleeves rolled, looking far too human for my comfort.
“What?”
“I spoke badly.”
“You often do.”
“Yes.”
I waited.
He exhaled once.
“I chose you because you were strong enough to say yes while broken.”
The anger in me faltered.
“That is somehow worse and better.”
“It’s accurate.”
“You’re addicted to accuracy.”
“It’s efficient.”
I tried not to soften.
Failed slightly.
“You still used me.”
“Yes.”
There it was again—brutal honesty.
“And now?” I asked quietly.
His gaze held mine.
“Now it is no longer that simple.”
My heartbeat misbehaved.
I hated that too.
“What does that mean?”
“It means I’m here apologizing at midnight.”
That was not an answer.
But it was something.
I stepped back from the doorway.
He took that as permission and entered.
Bold man.
He looked around my room like he was assessing enemy territory.
“You rearranged the furniture.”
“I needed control over something.”
He nodded once.
Reasonable enough.
Then his eyes landed on a framed photo sitting on the dresser.
Me in simpler days, smiling beside Seth and Amelia.
I had forgotten it was there.
His expression cooled.
“You kept this?”
I walked over and picked it up.
“I forgot.”
I looked at the three smiling fools in the picture.
Then at who I was now.
Without ceremony, I slid the photo from the frame and tore it cleanly down the middle.
Then again.
Then again.
Adrian watched silently.
I dropped the pieces into the bin.
“Efficient enough for you?”
“Surprisingly theatrical.”
I almost smiled.
Then he noticed my hand.
A paper edge had sliced my finger.
A thin line of blood welled.
“It’s nothing.”
He took my wrist before I could move.
The contact sent heat straight through me.
“It’s bleeding.”
“It’s a paper cut, not war.”
He guided me to the bathroom sink, rinsed the cut carefully, then reached into the cabinet for a small first-aid kit I hadn’t known existed.
“You keep medical supplies in the guest room?”
“I keep them everywhere.”
“Paranoid.”
“Prepared.”
He wrapped a bandage around my finger with unexpected precision.
I watched his hands.
Steady.
Gentle.
Dangerous combination.
“There,” he said quietly.
Neither of us moved.
We were too close.
Close enough to feel each other breathing.
Close enough to hear the shift in it.
My eyes lifted to his.
His were darker now.
Focused.
No sarcasm.
No armor.
Just intent.
My pulse pounded.
“This seems like a line we shouldn’t cross,” I whispered.
“Yes.”
He didn’t step back.
Neither did I.
“Then why aren’t you moving?”
“Same reason you aren’t.”
My breath caught.
Then, slowly, he touched my face.
Just fingertips along my jaw.
As if confirming I was real.
I should have stopped this.
Instead, I leaned into it.
His gaze dropped to my mouth.
Mine did the same.
The room narrowed to one impossible second.
Then his phone rang.
We both jerked back like the universe had slapped us.
He cursed under his breath and pulled the phone out.
I tried to steady my breathing.
He checked the screen and answered immediately.
“Yes?”
His face changed.
Cold.
Alert.
“What happened?”
He listened.
Then:
“When?”
Another pause.
“I’ll handle it.”
He ended the call.
“What now?” I asked.
His eyes met mine.
“Your adoptive parents are downstairs.”
- Writer
