Chapter 4: The First Crack

It’s been six weeks now. Six weeks of sneaking into his penthouse after my shifts, six weeks of waking up in sheets that cost more than my monthly rent, six weeks of telling myself this is still just an arrangement.

Grandma’s almost like her old self. She’s baking every day, humming in the kitchen, even talking about planting flowers on the little balcony come spring. Yesterday she danced actually danced a few steps around the living room when her favorite old song came on the radio. I stood in the doorway and cried without her seeing.

All because of him.

Noah.

I say his name in my head more than I should.

Tonight the diner was slow, so I got off early. I text him that I’m coming over. He replies with a simple thumbs-up emoji, but I know he’ll be waiting.

When the elevator doors open, the place smells like garlic and tomatoes. He’s in the kitchen—barefoot, sleeves rolled up—stirring something on the stove. He looks over his shoulder and smiles.

“Made pasta. The one with the creamy sauce you like.”

My chest gets tight. I told him that once, weeks ago, after we… after. I didn’t think he was really listening.

“You didn’t have to cook.”

“I wanted to.” He shrugs like it’s nothing.

We eat at the counter, knees touching. He asks about Grandma, about the sketch I showed him last week—the one of the park near our apartment. He actually remembers details. He says he likes how I draw light through the trees.

After dinner we move to the couch. Some movie plays in the background, but neither of us watches. His arm is around me, fingers tracing lazy circles on my shoulder. I’m wearing one of his t-shirts and nothing else. It smells like him.

Halfway through the movie, he kisses my neck—soft, slow. I tilt my head to give him more room. His hand slides under the shirt, cupping my breast like always. Thumb brushing over my nipple until I sigh.

We don’t make it to the bedroom.

He pulls me onto his lap, shirt pushed up. His mouth is warm, gentle, then not gentle. I rock against him, feeling how hard he already is. My hands are in his hair, pulling just enough to make him groan.

When he lifts me and carries me to bed, I wrap my legs around him tight. We undress the rest of the way fast. Skin on skin. He kisses down my body—collarbone, breasts, stomach—like he’s got all the time in the world.

When he settles between my legs and pushes inside, I gasp his name. He stills for a second, eyes on mine, then starts moving slow. Deep. Perfect.

His hand never leaves my breast. Squeezing softly, then firmer when my moans get louder. I arch into him, nails digging into his back.

“I got you,” he whispers against my ear. “Always got you.”

I come first, clinging to him, trying not to cry from how good it feels. He follows right after, burying his face in my neck, breathing my name like a prayer.

We stay tangled, sweaty, hearts pounding together.

Later, when he thinks I’m asleep, I hear him murmur something. It’s so quiet I almost miss it.

“You’re ruining me, Lila.”

My heart stops.

I pretend to still be asleep.

The next morning he’s gone early again—some big meeting. There’s coffee made and a note:

Left the card on the counter. Buy whatever you need for your art class. Can’t wait to see you tonight.

The black credit card sits there like it’s normal. I stare at it a long time.

At the diner, my friend Jess notices.

“You’re glowing, girl. Who is he?”

I laugh it off. “No one.”

But inside I’m panicking.

Because it doesn’t feel like no one anymore.

That night I go to him again. We eat leftovers, watch half a movie, end up in bed like always. But this time, when he holds me after, I don’t pretend to sleep.

“Noah?”

“Yeah?”

“What is this?” My voice is small.

He’s quiet so long I think he won’t answer.

“It’s… whatever you want it to be.”

“That’s not fair.” I turn to face him. “You can’t just say that.”

His eyes look softer in the dark. “I know.”

I trace the line of his jaw. “I’m scared.”

“Me too.”

We don’t say anything else.

But when I fall asleep, his arms are tighter around me than ever.

The next day I’m at Grandma’s, helping with dishes. She’s telling me about her doctor visit—everything’s looking good, maybe even remission soon.

I’m smiling, but inside I’m cracking.

Because every day I spend with him, the lie gets bigger.

And every night I sell to him feels less like selling……and more like giving away pieces of my heart I won’t ever get back.

To be continued…