Chapter 20
The city glows beneath us like a map of another world. Knox’s penthouse feels nothing like the offices below. It’s quieter, darker, and somehow lonelier.
He opens the door and steps aside to let me in. “It’s not much,” he says, his tone calm, careful.
I glance around. Everything is clean and deliberate. Dark wood floors. Glass walls that stretch from one end of the room to the other. Minimal furniture. No clutter. No color.
“It’s beautiful,” I say softly.
“It’s empty,” he replies.
I move toward the large window, the city lights spilling across the floor. “You live above everything you built. Doesn’t that feel strange?”
He stands a few feet behind me. “It feels necessary.”
When I turn, he’s watching me. Not like a man looking at a woman. Like someone memorizing a truth he isn’t ready to admit.
“You said you wanted to show me something,” I remind him.
He nods once, walking toward a door on the far side of the penthouse. “This way.”
The room we enter is colder, quieter. A wall of mirrors faces the opposite side of the space, reflecting the light from a single lamp. The air smells faintly of leather and cedar.
“This is where I come to think,” he says.
I look at the room. It’s empty except for a single chair and a stand that holds a glass of water. “You just sit here and stare at yourself?”
“Every morning before work. Every night before I sleep.”
“Why?”
He pauses. “Because I have to remember who I am before the world tells me what to be.”
The simplicity of it hits me harder than I expect.
He steps closer to the mirror, his reflection sharp and still. “When my father died, I promised myself I’d never lose control. I built everything on that promise. But control can become a cage.” His voice is quiet, almost tired.
I walk until I’m standing beside him. Our reflections merge in the mirror. For a moment, I can’t tell where he ends and I begin.
“You don’t have to hold it all together,” I say.
He meets my eyes in the reflection. “And you don’t have to fall apart to feel alive.”
The words hang between us, heavy and soft.
I turn to face him fully. “You think you know me.”
“I see you.”
“No one really does.”
“Then show me.”
My chest tightens. “That’s dangerous.”
“So is pretending.”
The quiet stretches. My heartbeat fills the room. He doesn’t move, doesn’t reach for me. He just waits, letting me decide.
I take a slow breath and step closer. My fingers graze his wrist. His skin is warm, his pulse steady.
“Lana,” he says, voice low. “If I touch you now, it won’t be out of control. It’ll be because I want you. All of you. No hiding. No regrets in the morning. I’m sorry for what I said but I can’t share any part of you with him.”
“I don’t want you to control it,” I whisper. “I want you to feel it.”
He turns, closing the small space between us. The air thickens, every breath shared. His hands settle gently at my waist, and for a moment we just stand there, watching each other in the mirror.
The reflection of us feels like something out of time, two people holding on to what’s left of themselves, afraid it might vanish if they blink.
When his lips finally meet mine, it isn’t rushed or wild. It’s slow. Careful. Honest. I sink into him, every part of me unraveling as he deepens the kiss. His hands slide up my back, grounding me, and I realize I’m not falling this time. I’m being caught.
The mirrors blur as he presses me closer, his breath mixing with mine. His control is gone now, replaced by something gentler but just as powerful.