Regret

Elena's eyes rolled into its sockets like an idiot as she tried to fight the thought of the contract.

And those silly red block letters burned into her mind.

She came up with every reason to pull away, but the response of her body betrayed her. "Jack," she gasped, even as he lips sucked on her neckline. "Jack s-stop," she mumbled as against the tension between her legs.

Then she finally pushed him away from her. "Stop, stop." She looked breathless.

He looked at her like he was seconds away from exploding.

"Stop, I'm sorry—I shouldn't have. No, we shouldn't have. I'm sorry, okay? This should never have happened." She said as she quickly disappeared into the bathroom and shut the door behind her before he could respond.

Then she disappeared into the bedroom and shut the door behind her. The click of the lock echoed louder than it should have in the silence that followed. She leaned heavily against the door, her back pressed against the cool wood, her eyes clenched shut as if doing so could rewind time or erase the last ten minutes. But the heat of his mouth still lingered on her skin, and the tremble in her knees had not yet faded.

A sharp exhale escaped her lips. She slipped down the door slowly, knees folding until she sat curled on the tiled floor, arms wrapped tightly around herself. Her chest rose and fell in an uneven rhythm, shame coiling around her like a slow, tightening rope.

"What were you thinking?" She whispered to herself, the words brittle in the quiet room. "How could you let this happen?"

She wasn't speaking to Jack. She wasn't even speaking to the part of her that had wanted him. She was talking to the voice inside, the quiet, logical part of herself that had set boundaries, that had sworn she wouldn't fall again, not like this. That part that had been so sure, so clear, and so in control.

"We had a deal," she murmured bitterly. "A contract, no lines crossed, no blurred intentions. I promised I wouldn't let my emotions get in the way and yet—" she bit down on the inside of her cheek hard until the sharp sting silenced the rising tremor in her voice. "And yet, I let myself feel something."

She pressed her forehead to her knees, as if that might contain the chaos unraveling inside her. The contract had been written and it was understood— between her and Jack, between her and herself.

Keep it simple. Keep it safe. He was not hers to fall for. Not anymore. Maybe not ever.

And yet, in the space of a few stolen seconds, she had betrayed that promise.

Not just to Jack.

But to herself.

She had let loneliness seduce her, let longing— whisper lies in her ear, let the comfort of his touch fool her into thinking it was real, that it was okay, that she deserved it, just for a moment.

And now, now all she could feel was the sharp sting of regret circling beneath her skin like frost.

Then she lifted her head, eyes brimming with the kind of guilt that couldn't be cried away. "You're so stupid," she whispered to herself, "so damn stupid."

Behind the door, she could hear nothing. No footsteps, no breath, no sound of Jack trying to follow her. That silence should have brought her relief. Instead, it made the regret sink even deeper. Because a part of her had wanted him to knock, part of her still did. And that terrified her most of all.

She was the boss, the one who was supposed to have it all together, the one who made the rules and enforced the lines. She was supposed to be level-headed, measured, always in control, especially when everyone else wasn't. And yet, here she was, huddled on a cold bathroom floor, shuddering beneath the weight of her own impulsiveness.

A flimsy attraction, that's what she had called it the first time she noticed that Jack appeared to look at her in a certain way. She must have read the signs wrongly and that had resulted in her silly impulsive acts. Even the little peek of those damn tattoos of his had contributed to her insanity.

It was just a flicker, just chemistry, easily ignorable. But it had not been.

She gave into it like an idiot.

She covered her face with both hands, her palms pressed so hard against her skin, it left imprints. Shame burned in her throat, thick and bitter. Her shoulders trembled with the quiet sobs she tried to suppress, because this wasn't just a personal failure, it was a professional one. She had compromised the very structure she built. She let herself feel something more than she should have—with him.

In the one place, both emotionally and literally—where she was meant to hold the highest ground.

And worse than the physical moments was what came before: the way she had let herself be seen vulnerable, soft and lonesome. The way her voice had broken when she said his name. The way her body had answered to him even as her mind screamed no.

She slammed her palms against the floor in quiet frustration, as if punishing herself might push the regret out of her veins. But it didn't. It only deepened the hollowness in her chest.

Outside the bathroom, Jack stood frozen, his eyes locked on the door, she had vanished behind. His breath was heavy, sharp at the edges, like he had just come down from a ledge too high.

He looked like he wanted to storm after her, wanted to crash through the barrier and pull her back into that fire they had ignited. But he didn't move.

Instead, he balled his hands into fists at his side. His knuckles whitened, his jaw tense. Then, with a breath laced in frustration, he dragged one hand across his face, as if trying to wipe the moment off his skin. But it clung to him, her gasp, her shiver, her sudden retreat. It lingered like smoke.

His fingers hovered over his lips, as if still feeling the warmth of her skin beneath them. He traced the fine curve of his mouth, remembering the taste of her neck, the sound of her breath catching in his ear.

"Damn it!" He muttered under his breath, dragging his fingers through his hair in a quick, agitated sweep. "You weren't supposed to let it go that far, you said you wouldn't," his voice low and tight, cracked lightly. "Stupid."

He took a step back from the door, then another, pacing as if movement might chase away the thoughts racing through him. Every step away felt wrong, but staying pressed against that door felt worse.

They had a dynamic, a structure. She was the one above him in every sense. And now everything between them had shifted— including the terms of their contract.

He glanced back towards the bathroom, a flicker of worry crossing his face. He wanted to knock, to speak, to ask if she was okay, but he didn't. He knew she wouldn't answer, so he turned and walked slowly out of the room, fists still clenched, jaw tight, dragging the weight of what they had just done like a shadow behind him.