Departure

Roman

The rain tapped quietly against the windows, soft and steady like a metronome. Paris was still waking up below me, the streets washed clean and shining under dull grey light. From the corner of my penthouse, the world looked like a painting I had no intention of stepping into.

I sat at the edge of my bed with a cup of coffee in one hand and my laptop open in front of me. Her stream was paused. The screen frozen on her mouth, parted slightly, like she had just taken a breath. That voice. Smooth. Sharp. Designed to be played with, but never fully held.

I hadn't planned to watch again. And yet here I was, my finger hovering over the spacebar like I was waiting for permission.

I pressed play.

She moved like she owned the air around her. Not girlish. Not sweet. Calculated. She was bratty in a way that wasn’t childish. She teased because she could. Because she knew we’d crawl for more. Her mask covered most of her face, but her mouth did all the talking. The words. The looks. The soft little pauses when she knew she had us right where she wanted.

I wasn't supposed to be here. Not in her world. Not tipping. Not watching. I didn’t do this. And yet last night I had opened my wallet like a goddamn rookie.

I exhaled through my nose and closed the laptop. It was time.

I stood, stretching slowly as I rolled my shoulders back. The room was cold. I liked it that way. No distractions. No warmth. Just space to think.

My suitcase sat neatly beside the closet. Two black suits. One grey. My favorite watch. Shoes polished to a dull shine. My passport tucked into the side pocket. Everything packed just the way I liked it.

Celeste knocked once before stepping in. Always quiet. Always efficient. She nodded at the suitcase, then at me.

"Jet’s prepped. We’ll leave in forty," she said.

I nodded. She glanced once at the laptop still sitting on the bed, then back at me. No questions. That’s why I kept her around. She knew how to mind her business.

I walked past her into the open living space, floor to ceiling windows wrapping around the apartment. Paris glittered in the mist. I sipped my coffee and picked up my phone.

Texted Jonathan.

Landing in four hours. Try not to wreck the company while I’m gone.

The reply came fast.

You say that like you still own it.

I smiled slightly.

You mean I don’t?

He sent back an eye-roll emoji and a middle finger. I laughed once under my breath and set the phone down. We’d been friends since I was nineteen. Back when I had nothing but a busted car and the kind of ambition that tasted like blood. He gave me my first shot in business. I gave him the foundation to build his empire. Everything we owned now was stitched from the same thread.

We hadn’t seen each other in years. Not since I moved to Paris to grow the international wing of the company. That was supposed to be a one year project. It turned into seven.

It was time to go back.

Celeste returned with my coat and phone charger. “Driver’s waiting downstairs,” she said.

I followed her to the elevator. The doors opened with a soft click. Polished mirrors. Soft gold trim. No music. Just silence.

The lobby bowed to me like it always did. Doormen straightened. The concierge pretended not to look at my face for too long. My name meant something in this city. I didn’t need to speak it.

Outside, the car was waiting. Black. Sleek. Quiet. I climbed into the back seat, stretching one leg out in front of me as the driver pulled away.

Paris faded behind us. Raindrops streaked down the windows like the city didn’t want to let me go.

I didn’t look back.

The jet was already warm when we arrived. Celeste checked her clipboard twice and gave me a nod before stepping off. I took my seat near the window, loosened the cuffs of my shirt, and leaned my head back.

Still. I could hear her voice.

You think you're in control of me? You don’t even know my name.

She was right. I didn’t. But that wasn’t what bothered me. What bothered me was that I wanted to. I wanted to know the face behind the velvet. The truth behind the tease.

There was something about the way she moved that made the room feel smaller like her body rearranged the air every time she shifted on the screen it wasn’t just performance it was presence practiced but not fake her hand would trail down her leg and stop just before the part that mattered and then she would smile just slightly and let the moment breathe like she knew exactly how long to let the silence stretch before snapping it tight again I had seen confidence before I had even bought it more times than I could count but this wasn’t that this was quieter more dangerous not a girl trying to be seen but a woman who chose when to let herself be looked at I watched the way her fingers touched her own skin like she wasn’t doing it for us at all like we were just lucky to be there and for a moment I didn’t care what was behind the mask I just wanted to know what she sounded like when she wasn’t performing what she looked like when she wasn’t wrapped in lace and shadows and soft lighting what she did when the camera clicked off and the silence came back that was what got to me not the sex not the tease not the show it was the control she didn’t need to take power from anyone she carried it in her spine in her stillness in the way she owned the silence like it owed her something

I closed my eyes. Let the sound of the engines fill the silence.

She didn’t know who she was playing with.

Not yet.