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Penthouse On The Fifth

ผู้เขียน: Atty. Catherine S. Parino
last update วันที่เผยแพร่: 2026-03-20 12:23:54

New York looks different from the backseat of Adrian’s car.

Sharper.

Colder.

Untouchable.

The city stretches upward in glass and steel, indifferent to my confusion.

I watch it blur past the tinted windows of the black Rolls-Royce like I’m watching someone else’s life.

Adrian hasn’t spoken in seven minutes.

Yes.

I’m counting.

He sits beside me, composed, one hand resting on his thigh, the other scrolling through emails on his phone.

Even now.

Even after everything.

He works.

“You postponed a two-hundred-million-dollar merger,” I say quietly.

He doesn’t look up.

“Yes.”

“For me?”

That makes him glance over.

A slow, assessing look.

“There’s nothing I wouldn’t postpone for you.”

The words are steady.

Not romantic.

Not dramatic.

Just fact.

I look away first.

The city feels safer than his eyes.

---

We stop in front of a building that makes my breath catch.

Glass façade.

Private entrance.

Uniformed doorman.

Discrete security cameras.

The kind of place you see in magazines.

Not the kind you live in.

“This is where we live?” I ask.

“Yes.”

My pulse skips.

“How much is this worth?”

He considers the question like it’s mildly amusing.

“Too much for you to worry about.”

“That’s not an answer.”

“Forty-eight million.”

My mouth goes dry.

“That’s absurd.”

“You picked it.”

I turn to him sharply.

“I did not.”

“You did,” he repeats calmly. “You said you wanted floor-to-ceiling windows so you could ‘see the whole world without leaving home.’”

The words hit me strangely.

They sound like something I would say.

But I don’t remember saying them to him.

---

The elevator requires a keycard and fingerprint.

His fingerprint.

Not mine.

I notice that.

He notices me noticing.

“We’ll update your access tonight.”

“Tonight?” I echo.

“You’re coming home with me.”

It’s not a question.

“What if I don’t want to?”

His gaze lowers slowly to my mouth.

Then back to my eyes.

“You don’t have anywhere else to go.”

“That’s manipulative.”

“It’s realistic.”

The elevator doors slide open.

And I step into a life I don’t remember choosing.

---

The penthouse is… breathtaking.

Glass walls overlooking Central Park.

Marble floors.

A grand piano in the corner.

Modern art lining the walls.

It feels curated.

Intentional.

Cold.

Until I see the photographs.

Us.

Everywhere.

On shelves.

On tables.

Framed along the hallway.

Vacations.

Galas.

Casual mornings in pajamas.

There’s one photo in particular.

I’m laughing at something off-camera.

He’s looking at me like I hung the stars.

My chest tightens painfully.

“Why do you look at me like that?” I whisper.

“Like what?”

“Like I’m everything.”

He walks closer.

Slow.

Measured.

“You were.”

Were.

Past tense.

That hurts more than I expect.

---

He shows me the bedroom last.

It’s massive.

Neutral tones.

Soft lighting.

King-sized bed.

Our bed.

I freeze at the doorway.

“I’m not sleeping in here.”

“I know.”

I blink.

“You do?”

“There’s a guest suite down the hall.”

“You already assumed I’d refuse?”

“I prepared for every outcome.”

Of course he did.

“Control makes you feel powerful,” I say quietly.

“It makes me prepared.”

“There’s a difference.”

He steps closer.

Too close.

“You think I want control?” he asks softly.

“I think you don’t know how to exist without it.”

Something dark flickers in his eyes.

“You’re the only thing in my life I can’t control.”

The confession lands heavier than it should.

My breath catches.

“That’s not romantic.”

“It wasn’t meant to be.”

Silence stretches between us.

Electric.

Unsettling.

“You said memory can be triggered,” I say finally.

“Yes.”

“Are you planning to manipulate mine?”

His jaw tightens slightly.

“I don’t need to manipulate it.”

“Then what are you doing?”

He reaches past me.

Opens the bedroom door fully.

And I see it.

The nursery.

Soft gray walls.

A crib.

Unopened boxes.

My heart stops.

“You kept it,” I breathe.

“You asked me not to take it down.”

My knees feel weak.

“I don’t remember that.”

“You couldn’t let go,” he says quietly. “Even after…”

He doesn’t finish the sentence.

He doesn’t need to.

The air feels thick.

Heavy with grief I don’t remember.

But my body reacts like it does.

Tears slide down my cheeks before I can stop them.

“I was pregnant here?” I whisper.

“Yes.”

“And I lost the baby here?”

His voice lowers.

“Yes.”

Something fractures inside my chest.

I press a hand to my mouth.

“Why would I stay after that?”

“Because you said leaving would make it real.”

The pain in his voice is subtle.

Contained.

But it’s there.

“And did it?” I ask.

“Did what?”

“Make it real?”

He looks at me for a long moment.

“It was real the second you started bleeding in my arms.”

The words hit like a punch.

My legs give out.

He catches me instantly.

Arms wrapping around me.

Strong.

Solid.

Familiar in a way my mind rejects but my body doesn’t.

I can feel his heartbeat against my cheek.

Steady.

Grounding.

“I’ve got you,” he murmurs.

And for a split second—

I feel safe.

Then I remember.

“I don’t belong to you,” I whisper against his chest.

His arms tighten slightly.

“Not because of memory.”

“Then why?”

“Because you chose me.”

“I don’t remember choosing.”

“You will.”

The certainty in his voice sends a shiver down my spine.

“You’re very sure of yourself.”

“I’m sure of you.”

That’s worse.

Because what if he’s right?

---

Later that night, I stand alone in the guest suite.

It’s luxurious.

Impersonal.

Temporary.

Like me.

I stare at my reflection in the mirror.

Mrs. Reyes.

Architect.

Mother who never got to be one.

Wife who filed for divorce.

Woman who loved a man she doesn’t remember loving.

There’s a knock on the door.

Soft.

Measured.

“Come in,” I say.

Adrian steps inside.

No jacket.

Sleeves rolled up.

Less corporate.

More dangerous.

“I need to set one boundary,” he says calmly.

“What?”

“Marcus doesn’t come here.”

Anger flares.

“You don’t get to decide that.”

“Yes, I do.”

“Why?”

“Because this is our home.”

“It’s just a building.”

“No,” he says quietly. “It’s where you loved me.”

My breath falters.

“You don’t know that.”

His eyes darken.

“I do.”

Silence.

Heavy.

Charged.

“And if I choose him again?” I ask.

The question hangs between us like a blade.

He steps closer.

Close enough that I can feel his heat.

“If you choose him with all your memories intact,” he says softly, “I’ll let you go.”

“And if I don’t?”

His gaze drops to my lips.

Then slowly back up.

“Then I’ll remind you.”

A shiver runs down my spine.

“That sounds like a threat.”

“It’s a promise.”

The air between us feels too thin.

Too hot.

“Goodnight, Alessandra,” he says quietly.

He turns to leave.

But before he opens the door, he adds—

“You didn’t just love me.”

He looks back at me.

Eyes dark.

Certain.

“You were obsessed with me.”

The door closes.

And I’m left standing there.

Heart racing.

Because I don’t know which possibility terrifies me more.

That he’s lying.

Or that he’s telling the truth.

______

Across the hall, I hear a drawer open.

Then close.

And through the thin silence of the penthouse, I hear Adrian’s voice on the phone.

“Cancel tomorrow’s board meeting,” he says calmly.

A pause.

“Yes.”

His tone shifts.

Colder.

Strategic.

“I’m restructuring everything.”

Another pause.

“For her.”

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  • UNTIL YOU REMEMBER ME   The Man Who Stayed

    The rain hasn’t stopped since afternoon.It drums against the tall windows of the Reyes penthouse, turning the city outside into a blur of gray lights and restless shadows. The sound is relentless, like the city itself is reminding me that storms don’t end just because you want them to.I stand near the window with my arms wrapped around myself. My phone screen glows faintly in my hand.The message.The video.The humiliation.Marcus Dela Torre and I.In a parking garage.Too close.Too intimate.Too convincing.Anyone watching it would believe the same thing. That I betrayed Adrian Reyes.My stomach twists.I should leave.That thought has been circling my mind for the last hour. Leave before Adrian sees it. Leave before he looks at me with disappointment. Leave before he confirms what everyone already believes.The elevator door opens behind me.My breath stops.Adrian has arrived.I don’t turn around. I can hear his footsteps crossing the marble floor. Slow. Measured. Calm. Always

  • UNTIL YOU REMEMBER ME   An Offer of Alignment

    The words refuse to settle.The call came from inside Reyes Holdings.I stare at Adrian’s phone as if the message might change if I look long enough. But it doesn’t. The investigation team’s report remains on the screen.Call origin traced to internal Reyes Holdings routing hub.My pulse beats harder.“That’s impossible,” I say quietly.Adrian doesn’t respond immediately. “Is it?” he asks.I look up sharply. “You think someone inside your company tried to run me off the road?”“I think someone inside the building used our network.”“That’s not the same thing.”“No.”“But it narrows the field.”The room feels colder suddenly.“How narrow?” I ask.Adrian picks up the phone again. “Daniel’s team is tracing which internal access point routed the call.”“How many people have access to those systems?”“Hundreds.”“That’s not narrow.”“It will be.”“How?”“Security badge logs.”The realization creeps slowly into place.“You’re checking who was in the building that night.”“Yes.”“And compari

  • UNTIL YOU REMEMBER ME   Lines Of Loyalty

    The words sit between us like a crack in glass.The driver works for your father.For a moment, I’m not sure I heard Adrian correctly. The penthouse office feels suddenly smaller, the air tighter, the silence louder.“My father,” I repeat slowly.“Yes.”Adrian’s voice remains calm, but there’s something measured in it now. Careful. Controlled.I walk slowly toward the desk. “Who exactly?”He turns the phone toward me. A name fills the screen.Rafael MendozaExecutive Security – Valez Urban DevelopmentMy stomach tightens.“That’s… not possible.”“You recognize him?”“I’ve seen him before.”“Where?”“At my father’s corporate events.”The memory is faint but clear enough: tall, quiet, always standing near the exits with an earpiece. Security. Not an executive. Security.“That doesn’t mean he was acting under orders,” Adrian says.“I know.”But the possibility presses heavily against my ribs.“What does he do exactly?” I ask.“Head of executive transport security.”“So he manages company

  • UNTIL YOU REMEMBER ME   The Space Between Us

    Sleep refuses to come.The city is quieter tonight, but my mind refuses to follow its rhythm. Every time I close my eyes, I see the same thing:Headlights.Rain on the windshield.A dark SUV closing the distance behind my car.And then—Nothing.A missing moment. A piece of time someone erased.I exhale slowly and sit up in bed. The digital clock beside the nightstand glows 2:13 AM.Across the penthouse, a faint strip of light spills from beneath Adrian’s office door.Of course he’s awake.I slip out of bed and pull on a soft sweater before walking quietly through the living area. The penthouse feels different at night—less like a luxurious space and more like a quiet observatory suspended above the city.Adrian’s office door is half open.Inside, he sits behind his desk, sleeves rolled to his forearms, a tablet glowing in front of him. Several printed documents are spread across the dark wood surface. Investigation reports.He looks up the moment he hears me.“You should be asleep,”

  • UNTIL YOU REMEMBER ME   Pressure Points

    By the time we leave the boardroom floor, the building already feels different.Tighter.Charged.Word travels fast inside Reyes Holdings, and nothing travels faster than fear. Directors who avoided looking at me earlier now glance quickly when I pass, their curiosity barely concealed.My accident.The footage.The possibility that someone tried to force my car off the road.Rumors spread like electricity through glass hallways.Adrian walks beside me, calm as ever, his stride measured and unhurried. If he feels the shift in atmosphere, he doesn’t show it. But I know him a little better now. Enough to recognize the signs. He’s already planning three moves ahead.---The InvestigationHis office is larger than I expected.Minimalist. Dark wood, steel accents, floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the Hudson. The room feels less like an office and more like a command center.Adrian closes the door behind us. Then he picks up his phone.“Daniel,” he says calmly.A pause.“Yes. I want the

  • UNTIL YOU REMEMBER ME   The Aftermath

    The boardroom empties slowly.One chair scrapes against the marble floor. Another director gathers his tablet with deliberate calm, as though the room has not just watched a video suggesting my accident might have been deliberate.No one looks directly at me.Not out of respect.Out of calculation.Board members file out in quiet clusters, murmuring low enough that their words dissolve into the hum of the air-conditioning system. Their footsteps echo along the glass corridor outside, fading one by one until the heavy doors swing shut.Silence finally settles.Only Adrian and I remain.The city spreads behind him through the floor-to-ceiling windows, Manhattan glowing under the late afternoon sun. Traffic moves in slow silver lines below. From this height everything looks controlled. Ordered. Predictable.Nothing like the chaos inside my mind.Adrian stands at the head of the table, one hand resting against the polished obsidian surface, the other in his pocket. His posture is composed

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