The Penthouse

The elevator ride was silent.

Elias stood beside me, close enough that I could feel the heat radiating from his body. His hand was on the small of my back, guiding me, claiming me. He didn't speak. He didn't need to.

I should have been terrified.

I was engaged. I was getting married in three days. I was standing in an elevator with a stranger, about to do something I could never take back.

But I wasn't terrified.

For the first time in months, I felt alive.

The penthouse was enormous.

Floor to ceiling windows overlooked the city, the lights flickering like a thousand tiny stars. The furniture was dark leather and polished wood, expensive and minimalist. A bar stood against one wall, stocked with bottles I couldn't name. The only light came from the windows and a single lamp beside the bed.

The bed.

My eyes found it. Large, dark sheets, perfectly made. Waiting.

I felt my heart pound against my ribs.

Elias walked past me to the bar. He poured two glasses of whiskey and handed one to me.

"Drink," he said. "You look like you need it."

I took the glass. I didn't drink. I just stared at him.

"I don't know why I'm here," I said.

"Don't you?"

I shook my head. "I've never done anything like this. I've never—" I stopped. "I don't even know your last name."

"You don't need to."

"Don't I?"

He stepped closer. His hand found my waist. His thumb traced small circles on my hip, sending shivers up my spine.

"Tonight," he said, "you don't need to know anything. You just need to feel."

I should have pushed him away.

I didn't.

"Can I tell you something?" I asked.

"Anything."

"I think I've forgotten what it feels like to be wanted."

I didn't mean to say it. The words just came out, raw and honest and broken.

Elias was silent for a long moment.

Then his hand found my chin. He tilted my face up, forcing me to meet his eyes.

"Then let me remind you," he said.

He kissed me.

It was slow at first. Gentle. Almost tender.

Then it deepened. His tongue swept into my mouth, tasting me, claiming me. His hands roamed my body, touching me like he was memorizing every curve. I moaned into his mouth, unable to stop myself.

I hadn't been touched like this in years.

Damon touched me like I was a chore. A duty. Something to check off his list.

Elias touched me like I was the most precious thing he'd ever held.

He pulled back, just enough to look at me. His grey eyes burned with intensity.

"You're beautiful," he said.

"I don't feel beautiful."

"Then you're not looking at yourself the way I am."

His fingers traced down my spine, finding the zipper of my dress. He pulled it down, slow and deliberate, letting the fabric fall to the floor.

I stood before him in nothing but my underwear, exposed, vulnerable.

And I had never felt more alive.

"Look at you," he murmured. "So perfect."

His hand found my face again. He kissed me softly, like I was something to be cherished.

"I want to make you forget," he said against my lips. "Every doubt. Every fear. Every time he made you feel invisible. I want to burn it all away."

A tear slipped down my cheek.

I didn't know why I was crying. I wasn't sad. I wasn't scared.

I was just so tired. So tired of pretending. So tired of being perfect. So tired of giving everything and getting nothing in return.

Elias caught the tear with his thumb.

"No more," he said. "No more tears. Tonight, you're not his fiancée. You're not anyone's anything. You're just you."

He lifted me into his arms and carried me to the bed.

The night was a blur of sensation.

His hands. His mouth. His body, covering mine, moving against mine, taking me places I'd never been. I lost count of the hours. I lost count of everything except the feeling of him inside me.

I'd never been touched like this.

I'd never been kissed like this.

I'd never been wanted like this.

When I finally collapsed against him, breathless and trembling, I felt a sob rise in my throat.

"Hey," he whispered, his hand stroking my hair. "What is it?"

"I don't know." My voice was broken. "I don't know why I'm crying."

"Then don't try to figure it out. Just let go."

I let go.

I cried into his chest, silent tears soaking into his skin. I cried for all the years I'd given to a man who didn't see me. I cried for the woman I used to be the one who laughed and dreamed and believed in love. I cried because I was terrified of going back to the life I'd been living.

"Stay," I whispered.

"What?"

"Stay with me. Please. I don't want to be alone."

He pulled me closer. His arms wrapped around me, strong and warm.

"I'm not going anywhere," he said.

I don't know when I fell asleep.

I only know that I woke up in a tangle of limbs and sheets, sunlight filtering through the curtains, casting soft gold across the bed.

I blinked, disoriented. The room was unfamiliar. The sheets were dark silk, not my own.

Then I saw him.

Elias was still asleep beside me.

His face was relaxed, younger somehow, softer. His arm was draped across my waist, his hand resting on my hip like he was holding me even in sleep.

I lay there, watching him.

He was beautiful. Cold, dangerous, beautiful.

But what had I done?

I was engaged. I was getting married in two days. And I'd spent the night in the arms of a stranger.

I should have felt guilty. I should have felt ashamed.

But all I felt was empty.

Because for one night, I'd felt alive. I'd felt wanted. I'd felt like I mattered.

And now I had to go back to my real life.

I slipped out of bed as quietly as I could. I found my dress on the floor and pulled it on. I found my shoes by the door. I paused, looking back at Elias's sleeping form.

I wanted to stay.

I wanted to crawl back into bed and let his arms wrap around me and forget the world existed.

But I couldn't.

I didn't even know his last name.

I didn't know anything about him.

He was just a stranger a kind, beautiful stranger who'd made me feel alive for one night.

That's all he could be.

I walked out the door.

The ride home was a blur.

I didn't take a taxi. I walked. I needed the air. I needed to clear my head.

I had slept with a stranger.

I was engaged.

I was getting married in two days.

And I didn't feel guilty.

I felt broken.

I felt empty and broken and more alone than I'd ever been.

Because Damon didn't see me. He'd never seen me. And now I'd met someone who did someone who made me feel whole and I couldn't have him.

I didn't even know his name.

When I got home, Damon was already awake. He was sitting at the kitchen table, scrolling through his phone.

"Where were you?" he asked, not looking up.

"I went for a walk."

"At 7 AM?"

"I couldn't sleep."

He nodded, still not looking at me. "You should get some rest. Big day today."

I blinked. "What's today?"

"The engagement party." He finally looked up. "My father is finally coming into town. You'll meet him tonight."

I forced myself to smile. "I'm looking forward to it."

He didn't notice the lie.

He never did.