Chapter 3

　　Elena's POV

　　I couldn't tell Charles the truth. He'd make me pay dearly for it; when things didn't go his way, he turned impatient, and an impatient Charles was not fun to deal with.

　　My hands shook so violently I had to use both to press the phone to my ear.

　　"Where are you?" Charles asked. His voice was sharp, impatient.

　　"I… I…"

　　The truth was a lead weight in my throat.

　　I couldn't tell him I was still around, standing in his room wearing nothing but a lace death wish.

　　"I felt so tired," I lied, my voice small. "I'm sorry I left earlier without saying anything. I got home and just… fell asleep."

　　There was a long silence.

　　I imagined Charles rubbing his temples in that slow, rhythmic way he did when he was trying to maintain his composure.

　　Finally, he dragged out a heavy sigh.

　　"Fine. Rest up some more. I'll see you later in the day."

　　"Okay," I whispered.

　　My chest tightened. A heavy, suffocating sadness settled over me as I realized how spectacular my plan to surprise him had failed.

　　Why did Lorenzo have to go and ruin everything?

　　"Happy birthday, Charles," my voice came out in an exhausted whisper.

　　"Thanks, darling," he replied.

　　The word darling felt hollow. It was a routine, mechanical, and empty of any heat or weight.

　　Charles hung up, and the dial tone hummed in my ear like a mocking laugh.

　　I stared at the black screen of my phone. The night was a disaster.

　　I made a silent vow then and there: I was burying this version of Elena deep underground, and the gauze was going up in flames with her.

　　I didn't even have a second to sit with my despair. The door swung open, and Lorenzo barged back in.

　　The sadness vanished, replaced instantly by a hot flash of irritation. I glared up at him from my spot on the floor.

　　"Oh, now you don't want to leave?" Lorenzo teased, his eyes dancing with that same dark mischief. "You're welcome to spend the night, if you don't mind Charles seeing us together."

　　I bit my tongue. I wasn't going to give him the satisfaction of an argument.

　　I just watched him, confused by the shift.

　　The Lorenzo I'd picked up from the airport had been a ghost; brooding, silent, and the one time he'd looked at me, his eyes had been so cold I'd wondered if I'd killed his dog in a past life.

　　But this version? This teasing, playful Lorenzo was dangerous. He was already getting under my skin, and I hated that my body was starting to respond to his presence all over again.

　　The room felt smaller. Too hot.

　　I scrambled to my feet, clutching my trench coat closed. "I'm leaving."

　　"Let me drive you," Lorenzo said, his voice brooking no argument. "You're not safe going out in that coat."

　　The way he said coat made me pause.

　　His eyes darkened, his gaze lingering on the buttons as if he could see right through the woolly material.

　　"And besides," he added, a cocky tilt to his head, "Charles is still here. You're safer with me."

　　The logic was twisted, but it was there. If I ran into Charles in the lobby, it was game over.

　　I gave a stiff, reluctant nod.

　　We moved through the service exit, avoiding the main elevators.

　　He led me to the parking garage where a sleek, matte-black Lamborghini Revuelto sat idling like a caged predator.

　　It looked like it belonged to a villain, all sharp angles and aggressive lines.

　　He didn't wait for me to admire it. He shoved me into the passenger seat and took off, the engine roaring through the concrete garage.

　　As we hit the open road, I turned my head to the window, watching the city lights blur into streaks of neon.

　　Tonight had been a whirlwind. A nightmare that I desperately want to wake up from.

　　I have to end this now, before it gets out of hand.

　　"I don't want to ever speak to you again after what happened tonight," I said to Lorenzo, my voice holding firm. "You took advantage of me. I think it's best for both of us if you just forget the last hour ever happened."

　　A low, dark chuckle vibrated from the driver's seat.

　　"Correction, Lena. I didn't take advantage of you. You came to me. You climbed onto me. And you enjoyed every second of it." He shifted gears, the car surging forward. "And no, I object. I'm not forgetting tonight. And we definitely aren't going to stop talking."

　　My head swung around to face him, my jaw dropping.

　　He didn't even look at me; his profile was a mask of remorseless arrogance. He was a man with no morals, no boundaries, and apparently, no shame.

　　Before I could launch into a retort, the car slowed. He pulled up to the curb of the quiet residential street.

　　The street outside was empty, illuminated by the sickly yellow glow of streetlights. The cool night air swirled beyond the glass, but inside the car, the tension was suffocating.

　　Then, the realization hit me like a physical punch.

　　I hadn't given him my address. I hadn't said a single word about where I lived.

　　"How…" I whispered, the blood draining from my face. "How do you know where I live?"

　　Lorenzo didn't answer. He just gave me that smug, knowing smile that made my skin crawl.

　　He killed the engine and stepped out of the car.

　　He walked around to my side, the heels of his boots clicking on the asphalt. He opened the door and offered me a hand, his fingers long and elegant.

　　I ignored his attempt at being a gentleman.

　　Pushing past him, I pulled my shoulders back and held my head high.

　　I marched toward my building without looking back. I could feel his eyes on me, burning into the back of my neck until I disappeared through the front doors.

　　Once I was inside my apartment, I leaned against the door and let out a breath I felt like I'd been holding for a lifetime.

　　I stumbled toward the couch and sank into the cushions, desperate for sleep, desperate to wake up and find out this was all a fever dream.

　　But my phone vibrated in my pocket, a sick reminder from the universe that this night was far from over.

　　I jumped, my heart skipping a beat.

　　Thinking it was Charles, maybe checking in one last time, I hurried to pull it out.

　　It wasn't Charles.

　　It was a message from an unknown number.

　　My thumb hovered over the notification. When I clicked it, the blood didn't just drain from my face; it turned to ice.

　　It was a photo.