Chapter 5 #2
“Then I’ll leave you alone,” he says immediately. “Take out the camera. For good.”
That should make this easy. I’ll just tell him to go away.
Instead, I do something stupid.
“Thirty minutes,” I say. “I’ll come up. I’ll look and then I’ll decide.”
Relief doesn’t soften him. It sharpens him.
“Good,” he says. “That’s enough.” Damian walks over and scoops up Mr. Wiggles from where he was sound asleep on the couch.
“What are you doing with my cat?” My hands find my hips.
“Our cat,” he corrects. “Just meet us upstairs. Mr. Wiggles and I have a surprise for you.”
Then he’s gone, taking my sleepy cat with him.
I sit down on the couch with a thump and wonder what the hell I’ve gotten myself into.
Hannah
Exactly thirty minutes later, I push open the heavy metal door that leads to the roof of our building.
I’d like to say I spent those thirty minutes debating, arguing with myself over whether I should really be here, whether giving Damian a chance was reckless or brave, but that would be a lie. The moment he left, I already knew I was coming.
What I wrestled with wasn’t him.
It was me.
What did I want?
What did I envision for my future?
Damian had been living a sheltered half-life, using me as his only human connection. But the truth settles in slowly, uncomfortably.
I wasn’t so different.
I kept my world small on purpose. Swore off men. Swore off love. Told myself it was self-protection instead of fear.
Damian did the same thing.
Just louder. With locks.
He built walls you can see—steel and concrete and doors that never opened.
I built mine where no one could reach them.
Inside myself.
But isolation is isolation, no matter how you dress it up. Physical or emotional, it starves you all the same.
And what had it given us?
Nothing.
I wasn’t happy.
Neither was he.
He’d admitted that.
Tonight, I could have died. Not once, but twice. First from the peanut. Then from the bullets. Both times, Damian stepped in without hesitation. Put himself in danger. Followed me straight into chaos.
That wasn’t control. It was the opposite.
It was risk. A risk he took for me.
Could I do the same? Take a risk for him?
Maybe being alone wasn’t working for me anymore either. Maybe it was time to stop mistaking solitude for safety.
So I came.
Not because he wanted me to.
Because I did.
The door opens on well-oiled hinges, which surprises me. I thought there was nothing up here. That it was utilitarian. Some air-conditioning ducts and heating vents. Stuff like that. Which is why when I step out onto the roof, I stop short, unable to believe my eyes.
The city block stretches out below, lights glittering along the street like spilled stars, but I barely register it. Instead, I’m mesmerized by the strings of warm white bulbs that crisscross the space overhead, anchored to sturdy metal, swaying gently in the night.
A narrow path of candles stretches out in front of me, each flame protected by tall glass cylinders, their light steady despite the wind. They form a clear walkway across the rooftop, leading away from the door like an invitation.
Beyond them…a tent.
Not a flimsy canopy, but a full-size event tent, like the kind used for winter weddings or formal banquets. Heavy white vinyl. Opaque windows. A peaked roof dusted with a faint sheen of frost that makes it glow under the lights.
The candlelight guides me forward.
I walk, my heels quiet against the rooftop flooring he’s laid down, interlocking panels, stable and solid beneath my feet. When I reach the tent, I push aside the zippered flap.
Warmth wraps around me instantly.
Heat lamps hum softly from the corners, angled inward.
A space heater sits discreetly near the back wall.
The air smells faintly of citrus and clean linen instead of cold metal and snow.
More candles flicker inside as well, scattered along low tables and arranged on bookshelves, their light softened by sheer fabric draped along the tent walls.
The space glows, golden, bright, and impossibly inviting.
A small table sits near the edge, draped in dark fabric.
On it: my favorite flowers. Not roses, like most people guess, but peonies, full and layered, in the exact shade of blush pink I love.
A bottle of wine I once mentioned offhand, months ago, when I thought no one was listening.
Chocolate. Not generic. The expensive kind with sea salt and caramel, wrapped in big red ribbon.
My chest tightens.
Damian stands a few feet away, hands in his pockets. Not touching anything. Still. Like he’s afraid one wrong move will send me running.
Mr. Wiggles is asleep on the seat next to him, with a pink ribbon tied around his neck. That shocks me more than anything. My cat hates accessories. Has drawn blood over collars.
“This is…” I trail off, turning slowly as I take in the space.
“My retreat,” he says. “I come up here a lot.”
That much is obvious now that I look closer. The way everything is arranged with quiet efficiency. The worn spot on the flooring near the edge, where someone must stand often. A chair positioned just right to catch the light and the view beyond the tent wall.
“In the summer,” he adds, “I don’t need any of this.”
He gestures vaguely, not to the candles or the table, but to the structure itself.
“I set up some patio furniture. Sit out here. Let the sun warm my skin.” A faint, rueful smile touches his mouth. “Even I need to get out of my apartment sometimes.”
The image of Damian stretched out on the rooftop in the middle of Manhattan feels strange. Intimate. Like seeing him somewhere he never meant to be observed.
“In the winter?” I ask.
He shrugs. “The roof’s still useful. I put up this tent.” A pause. “Pretend it’s my winter palace.”
There’s something romantic about that.
A brooding prince, alone in his fortress of light and warmth, suspended above a frozen city.
Damian’s eyes trace over my face and down my body.
I changed into a new outfit before coming up.
My red dress was wrinkled and dirty from crawling on the restaurant floor.
Now I’m wrapped in a soft white sweater, the fabric gentle against my skin, paired with a loose pink skirt that sways and ruffles when I move.
It’s comfortable in a way the red dress never was.
More me. Still dressed up, but no longer trying to impress someone else.
“You look very pretty tonight,” he says softly, bringing his gaze back up to meet mine.
“You remembered my dream.” I swallow. “Every detail.”
“Yes.”
There’s no triumph in his voice. Just certainty.
“How did you find all of this? Get it up here so quickly?”
A hint of a smile. “I already had some of it. As for the rest…you’d be surprised what you can get delivered in a city like this.”
I step closer, drawn despite myself. “And if I hadn’t come up?”
He meets my gaze. “Then this would’ve stayed untouched. Like you asked.”
That matters more than I want it to.
I walk to the table. Run my fingers over the flowers. The bottle. Proof. Real, physical proof that this wasn’t an impulse.
“This is a lot,” I say.
“I know.” He pauses. “You can still leave.”
I laugh softly. “You keep saying that.”
“Because I mean it.”
Silence stretches. Not awkward. Just heavy.
“One last gift.” Damian picks up a rectangular metal box from the table and hands it over. Inside is a hard drive and a compact hub labeled in neat handwriting: CAMERA SERVER.
“What’s this?” I hold it up.
“The computer that runs the camera. That stores the data.” His voice is calm, steady. “I’ll take out the actual camera tomorrow. I won’t watch you anymore.” A faint smile as he adds, “Unless it’s in person, that is.”
I turn to him. “Don’t assume me being here means forgiveness.”
“I wouldn’t dare.”
The wind lifts my hair, tangling it across my face. Before I can brush it away, Damian’s hand rises, then stops. Hovers.
He waits.
This is the moment where I’m supposed to run.
I know that. I feel it like a warning signal flashing in my chest, but still, my body doesn’t move.
Because if I’m honest, the part of me that’s always been lonely recognizes the danger in him and steps toward it anyway.
Not because he watched me.
Because I’m done pretending that I don’t want to be desired this badly.
My pulse pounds.
“Go ahead,” I whisper.
He tucks the strand behind my ear with devastating gentleness. His knuckles graze my skin. The contact is brief. Controlled.
It sends a shiver straight down my spine.
I take another step. My hands go to his jacket, gripping the fabric like I need to hold on so I don’t fall.
“Tell me something,” I say. “Tell me why I shouldn’t be terrified of you.”
His voice drops. “Because I’ve never wanted to own you. Only to be chosen. To choose you.”
My breath catches.
“There’s no difference,” he continues. “Between obsession and devotion. Not for us.”
My hands slide up his chest. I feel the hard restraint there. The tension he’s holding back.
“I’m still angry,” I say.
“I know.”
“I don’t trust you. Not completely.”
“I know.”
“But I want you,” I admit, the words burning on the way out.
Something dark and reverent flickers in his eyes.
“That,” he says softly, “is all I need.”
He doesn’t kiss me. He waits, holding his breath. I stand on my tiptoes and caress his cheek. He leans into my palm.
“Don’t move,” I warn.
He stills instantly.
That matters too.
I feel his heartbeat under my palm. Fast. Controlled. Like a man holding himself together by sheer force of will.
“You don’t touch me,” I say, “unless I ask.”
“Yes,” he answers immediately.
My fingers curl in his jacket. “But I want you close.”
Carefully, so carefully, he steps into my space. Stops just short of contact.
“Like this?” he asks.
I nod.
The city noise fades. There’s only breath. Heat. The charged energy between us.
I pause and add, “Tomorrow, you’ll come to my door. Knock like a normal person?”
“I promise.” He’s so close that I can feel his breath ghost across my cheek.