Chapter 6
679 Words
The scalding water couldn’t burn away the memory. Jonathan’s arm around Evelyn’s waist. His tender smile. Nothing important.
Sofia’s words echoed instead—Tú vales más—but they felt hollow against the gaping wound in my chest. I dressed mechanically in borrowed yoga pants and an old Columbia hoodie Sofia tossed at me, the fabric smelling faintly of detergent and her coconut shampoo.
We ordered greasy Chinese takeout. I picked at fried rice while Sofia demolished dumplings, her eyes distant, sharp.
She didn’t mention Matthew again. Didn’t mention Jonathan. The silence screamed louder than Fifth Avenue traffic.
Night fell. Sofia drove me back to Jonathan’s penthouse in tense silence, her knuckles white on the steering wheel.
"Llámame si necesitas algo. Cualquier cosa," she ordered as I slid out of her Porsche. Her gaze was fierce. "No te quedes con él esta noche, Angie. Ven a mi apartamento."
But where else could I go? My cramped studio apartment had been surrendered months ago when Jonathan insisted I move in permanently.
"Mi casa es tu casa, querida," he’d murmured, kissing my neck as he handed me the keycard. Another lie.
The private elevator ascended to the penthouse with stomach-churning speed.
The doors slid open onto Jonathan’s world—cool marble floors, floor-to-ceiling windows framing the glittering skyline, the faint scent of his cedar cologne hanging in the air like a ghost.
Home? It felt like a museum exhibit. A display case for Jonathan Cresswell’s perfect secret. My heels echoed too loudly as I stepped inside, the sound brittle against the oppressive silence.
I bent to unstrap the offending stilettos—Sofia’s loaners, pinching my toes—my fingers fumbling with the tiny buckles. The cold marble bit through my stockings.
Suddenly, warmth enveloped me from behind. Strong arms slid around my waist, pulling me flush against a hard chest. Jonathan’s familiar cedar-and-whiskey scent washed over me, thick and cloying.
His lips brushed the nape of my neck, then trailed up to my shoulder—soft, possessive kisses that once made my knees weak. Now, they felt like brands.
“Mi estrella,” he murmured into my skin, his voice low velvet. “Where have you been so late? I missed you.” His hands slid lower, fingers splaying possessively over my hips. The intimacy was suffocating—a cruel parody of tenderness.
I froze, staring at my reflection in the dark window glass. His golden-blonde hair brushed my temple; his blue eyes watched me with lazy affection. The lie tasted like ash in my throat. Missed me? While your fiancée’s perfume still clings to your suit?
“Just… Sofia,” I managed, my voice thick. “Graduation fitting.” I couldn’t turn. Couldn’t let him see the tears pricking my eyes.
His hands slid lower, fingers tracing the waistband of my borrowed yoga pants. Possessive. Familiar. The same hands that held Evelyn’s waist hours ago.
“Ah, mi tesoro,” he murmured, his lips grazing my shoulder blade. One hand slipped beneath my hoodie, warm palm flattening against my bare stomach.
“You look… tense.” His thumb rubbed slow circles just below my navel. “Is my star angry with me?” The question was velvet-wrapped steel. Testing. Always testing.
I flinched. His touch—once electric—now felt like violation. Every nerve screamed. Pull away. Run.
But Sofia’s warning echoed: Clean breaks. Where would I run? His penthouse was my cage. His money paid for everything—the MBA, my family’s survival, the air I breathed. I was trapped in gilded silk.
His other hand slid lower, fingers dipping beneath the elastic of my pants, tracing the curve of my hip. “Tell me,” he whispered against my neck, breath hot.
“Tell me what you need.” His erection pressed hard against my ass through his tailored trousers—demanding, impatient. The intimacy was suffocating.
A cruel parody of tenderness. Nothing important. The words carved deeper. My breath hitched. I closed my eyes. Let the darkness swallow me.
- Writer
