4. Beautiful Lies and Brutal Truths

The silence in the Carter foyer stretched thin, sharp enough to cut. Enric Carter looked between them with a furrowed brow. The silence that followed Elena’s “no” could have been carved through steel.

Ryan’s gaze didn’t leave her.

Enric let out a laugh. “Well, which one is it?”

Elena turned toward her father. “I mean we’ve seen each other around. I think. I mean, I might’ve seen him at some event.”

Ryan didn’t look away from her. “You could say that.”

Her father’s brow furrowed. “You never mentioned that.”

“It wasn’t memorable,” she lied.

Ryan’s eyes darkened. Liar.

“Ha, well, you’ll have to forgive my daughter,” Enric said. “She’s always had a flair for dramatics. Must be from her mother.”

Elena’s hand trembled slightly as she pulled it away from Ryan’s grip. He let go, too slowly, fingers grazing the inside of her wrist deliberately like a warning.

Enric clapped a hand on Ryan’s shoulder. “I hope you made a good impression on her. She doesn’t usually stick around for any of the suits I bring home.”

Ryan smiled tightly. “She definitely made an impression.”

Elena’s stomach twisted.

Her father motioned toward the sitting room. “Come, let’s have a drink before dinner.”

“I’d like that.”

Ryan walked ahead, his shoulders broad and stiff, and Elena followed, trying not to visibly shake.

Inside the lavish sitting room, the scent of aged leather and wood polish filled the space. Enric poured scotch into two glasses and handed one to Ryan, one to Elena. They sat, Ryan beside Enric, Elena across the room. She kept her knees together, her back too straight, her hands locked in her lap. Ryan lounged back in his chair like a man who owned the room.

Her father launched into work talk. Numbers. Deadlines. Forecasts. But all Elena could hear was her own pulse in her ears.

Eventually, Enric’s phone rang. “Shit. Give me a sec. I’ve gotta take this, it’s Frankfurt.”

“Where’s the restroom?” Ryan asked.

“Down the hall,” Enric was about to walk out. “Elena will show you.”

They walked in silence until they reached the far end of the hall. The moment they rounded the corner, out of view, Ryan grabbed her by the wrist and pushed her back against the nearest wall.

Elena gasped as her back hit the smooth surface. “Ryan…”

His hand curled around her throat, not tight, just enough to hold her there. “Don’t,” he growled, low and dark. “Don’t you fucking say my name like that.”

His body pressed close, so close she could feel the heat of him, the tension vibrating off every muscle. He stared at her like he was seeing her for the first time, really seeing her.

“You lied to me that night,” he whispered, his voice dangerous with restraint.

She stared up at him, chest heaving.

“Tell me the truth,” he said, his voice like thunder low and ready to break. “How old are you? 27 or….”

Her lips trembled. “Ryan, I….”

His grip tightened slightly. “How old are you, Elena?”

She tried to breathe, but the air caught in her throat. The tears stung her eyes before she could stop them. 

“Seventeen,” she whispered. “But I turn eighteen in a couple of months.”

The words hung there.

Ryan stepped back like she’d burned him. His hand dropped from her throat as he stared at her like she was poison. His jaw clenched so tight it looked like it might shatter.

“Seventeen? You’re a fucking child,” he said, voice raw. “Jesus Christ!”

“I’m not…” she started.

“Don’t,” he snapped, turning away. “Don’t you fucking dare.”

She reached for him, instinctively. “Ryan, please…”

“You lied to me,” he barked. “You looked me in the eyes and said you were twenty-seven.”

“I didn’t think I’d ever see you again,” she cried.

“That makes it better?” he laughed, cold and bitter. “I could’ve gone to jail.”

“I didn’t mean for it to go that far….”

“But it did, Elena.” His voice dropped, dangerously quiet. “It did. And now I find out you’re the daughter of my business partner? Are you fucking kidding me?”

She took a step toward him. “I didn’t know who you were either.”

He turned back to her, eyes wild. “Does your father know where you were that night? That you were at Club Noire? With me?”

“No,” she said quickly, shaking her head. “God! No.” Her voice cracked. “I didn’t plan for it to happen. I didn’t know you were… you.”

“Don’t make this about me,” he growled. “You hunted me down. You flirted. You climbed into my lap like you knew what you were doing.”

“I did know,” she shot back, voice rising. “I’ve known exactly what I want since the second I saw you.”

Ryan’s eyes blazed. “You don’t even know who you are yet.”

“I know. I’m not a child.”

“You’re seventeen,” he spat. “That makes you a child in every state, Elena. Especially to someone like me.”

Her eyes filled with tears. “So that’s it? You’re just going to walk away like none of it happened?”

He leaned in, close enough that she could feel the heat of his breath. “I have to.”

She swallowed hard, voice a whisper. “You don’t want to.”

“That’s not the point.”

His words fell like a blade.

She opened her mouth again, but no sound came out. Her head was spinning. Her heart was breaking and burning all at once.

“I trusted you,” he said. “I touched you. I tasted you. And all the while, you were lying.”

“I didn’t mean to lie,” she said. “I just didn't want it to end before it started.”

“It never should’ve started.”

Ryan stepped back, pacing once down the hall like he needed to put distance between them or he’d explode. He raked a hand through his hair, then turned back, his tone colder than ice.

“If your father ever finds out…”

“He won’t.”

“Stay the hell away from me.”

Then he turned and walked away, leaving her against the wall, trembling.

The dining room was too bright, the crystal chandelier casting sharp reflections across the polished mahogany table. Elena sat across from Ryan, barely eating. He didn’t look at her once. Enric talked business, laughed, and poured wine. Oblivious.

Ryan was the picture of composure. Calm. Cool. Completely detached.

But beneath the table, Elena’s hands shook. 

“Elena’s graduating next year,” Enric said, pouring Ryan another glass of wine. “Top of her class.”

Ryan’s lips quirked. “Is she?”

Elena’s nails dug into her palm.

“Straight A’s,” Enric continued, oblivious. “Though lately, she’s been distracted.”

Ryan leaned back in his chair, swirling his wine. “Distracted by what?”

Her father sighed. “Boys, probably.”

Elena choked on her water.

Ryan’s grip tightened around his glass. “Boys.”

Enric chuckled. “You remember being that age, Ryan. Hormones. Drama.”

Ryan’s smile didn’t reach his eyes. “I remember.”

The air between them crackled with tension.

Elena left the moment dessert was over, closed her door and pressed her back to it, sliding to the floor. She thought the worst part would be the guilt.

But it wasn’t. The worst part was the way he looked at her now. Like she was a stranger. Like she was something dirty. 

She remembered the way his hands had felt on her skin, the way he’d looked at her like she was the only thing that mattered in the world. And then she remembered the disgust in his voice. That hurt more than anything else.

She wanted to scream, to explain, to rewind time.

But she couldn’t. She’d lit the match. Now she had to watch it burn.

. . . . . . . . . . .

Ryan drove straight to Club Noire from Carter’s. He needed air. Distance. Noise. Anything to drown out the echo of her voice in his head.

Seventeen!

Fuck!

He kept gulping whiskey one after another, but it didn’t help. Every time he closed his eyes, all he saw was her. The way she’d looked in that dress. The way she’d looked at him.

He’d been played. Lied to. But worse? He’d felt something for her.

Jade found him in his private lounge an hour later.

“You look like hell,” he said, sliding into the seat across from him.

“Gee, thanks.”

“Rough meeting with Carter?”

He laughed bitterly. “You have no idea.”

Jade watched him closely. “You okay?”

“No.”

He waited. Then quietly asked, “Is this about that girl?”

Ryan didn’t answer.

Jade tilted his head. “You’re thinking about her.”

“She lied to me,” he muttered. “She said she was twenty-seven. But she’s seventeen. Seventeen, Jade.”

Jade went still. “Oh… shit!”

“Yeah. Exactly.”

“What are you going to do?”

He rubbed his face. “What I have to. Walk away. Forget it happened.”

Jade looked at him, voice quiet. “You don’t want to forget.”

He didn’t answer. Because forgetting wasn’t an option, not when her scent still clung to his sheets, not when her voice haunted every corner of his head.

But wanting her? It was dangerous. It was illegal. It was everything he couldn’t afford.

The next morning, he was at the gym before dawn, pushing himself until his muscles screamed, trying to exorcise her from his system.

It didn’t work.

Jade called around noon. “You missed the finance review.”

“I’m not in the mood,” he snapped.

Jade paused. “Are you okay?”

“No,” he said simply.

“I just need some time,” he muttered.

Jade was silent, then said, “Okay. But don’t do anything stupid.”

Too late. Way too late, he thought.

. . . . . . . . . . .

Elena couldn’t sleep. She paced around  her room as if she could just forget the way his hands had felt on her skin. That’s when her phone buzzed with a text from Avonlea. 

Avonlea: You alive?

She typed back numbly.

ELENA: Barely.

Avonlea: What happened??

Elena hesitated, then sighed.

ELENA: I fucked up.

Before Avonlea could respond, another text came through an unknown number.

UNKNOWN: You forgot something.

Her breath caught.

A photo followed, a single black lace panty, draped over the edge of a nightstand.

Hers. Her face burned.

UNKNOWN: Pick it up tomorrow. My penthouse. No excuses.

Her fingers trembled as she typed.

ELENA: I can’t see you again.

Ryan smirked.

RYAN: You will.