Fuck You

The elevator ride was silent.

Nessa stood on one side of the mirrored car, Roman on the other, the soft mechanical hum the only sound between them. Her pulse still hadn’t settled from the moment in the back seat. He knew about Victor. He had been reading the messages. The careful double life she had built was already compromised, and the man who now held the keys to her apartment, her money, and her body didn’t look even slightly concerned about it.

The doors opened onto the private floor. Roman stepped out first. She followed.

Inside the apartment he loosened his tie, poured himself a drink, and didn’t offer her one. He leaned against the counter and studied her over the rim of the glass like he was already three steps ahead of whatever she might say.

“Sit down.”

Nessa stayed on her feet. “You went through my phone.”

“I went through everything connected to you the night we met,” he said. “The boyfriend was an easy find. Long-distance. Soft. Thinks you’re a waitress. Convenient.” He took a slow sip. “Three weeks until he lands. That gives us time to set terms.”

“Terms.”

“You’re not ending it yet. That would raise questions. You’ll see him when he arrives. You’ll be affectionate enough to keep him calm. You’ll fuck him if you have to.” Roman’s voice stayed even, almost bored. “But you don’t tell him about me. You don’t tell him about this apartment. You don’t let him leave marks that last. And when I call, you find a reason to step away. Clear?”

The words landed with the same quiet authority he used for everything else—like the decision had already been made and she was simply being informed. Something hot and sharp cut through the cold that had settled under her ribs since dinner.

Nessa took a step closer.

“And what exactly am I in this arrangement? The girl you keep on the side until you get bored? You moved me out of my place the same night you decided you wanted me. You told me to quit the only work that paid my bills. You’re deciding who I can see, when I can see them, and how I’m allowed to act while I do it. If you’re going to own every part of my life like this, then you marry me.”

Roman went still.

The silence that followed was heavier than anything that had come before. He set the glass down carefully, like he needed the extra second to make sure the next words came out exactly the way he intended.

“I’m married,” he said. Flat. Final. “I have a wife. I have a family. I don’t leave. I never have, and I’m not starting now.”

Nessa felt the words land like a slap. The apartment suddenly felt too large and too small at the same time. She could still feel the ghost of his hands on her from earlier, the way he had taken her apart like it was his right. The same man now looking at her like she had asked for something ridiculous.

“So I’m good enough to fuck,” she said, voice rising despite herself. “Good enough to move into your apartment. Good enough to control. Good enough to rewrite my entire life around your schedule. But not good enough to claim properly? Not good enough for a ring? Just the convenient body you keep in a nice cage until you decide you’re finished?”

“You’re exactly what I want you to be.” His eyes didn’t soften. There was no apology in them, no hesitation. “That doesn’t include a ring. It never will. My wife stays. The family stays. You stay on the terms I already gave you.”

The anger came fast and clean. She had survived worse than men who wanted her only on their terms, but something about the calm certainty in his voice—like she should have already known her place and been grateful for it—made her vision narrow.

“Fuck you.”

Roman looked at her for a long moment. Then he set the glass down, picked up his jacket from the back of the chair, and walked past her toward the door.

“I’m done discussing this tonight,” he said without turning around. “Stay here. Cool off. We’ll talk when you’re ready to be reasonable.”

The door opened. Closed. His footsteps faded down the hallway toward the elevator.

Nessa stood alone in the middle of the expensive apartment, the silence rushing in to fill the space he had left. The fight still burned under her skin. The wedding band she kept seeing on his hand felt like it was burned into her vision. She grabbed her bag, then stopped, then grabbed it again. She couldn’t stay here. Not after that.

She was halfway to the door when her phone buzzed.

Victor.

*Baby. I’m here. Just landed. Surprise. I couldn’t wait another three weeks. Tell me where you are—I’ll come straight to you.*

Nessa stared at the message, heart slamming against her ribs. The apartment around her still smelled like Roman. The sheets on the bed were still tangled from them. And the man who had just told her she would never be more than a kept secret was gone—leaving her with an empty place and a boyfriend who thought she was his.

Her thumbs moved before she could stop them.

She typed the address of the building—the private entrance, the floor, the apartment number—and hit send.

*On my way,* Victor replied almost immediately. *Be there in forty minutes. Can’t wait to see you.*

Nessa lowered the phone and looked around the quiet apartment Roman had just walked out of.

In less than an hour, Victor would be standing in the middle of it.

And she had no idea how she was going to explain any of this.