5. Henry
— ? —
Henry
She’s standing in my doorway like I just asked her to move into Buckingham Palace.
“You said apartment.”
“This is an apartment.”
“This is a PENTHOUSE. On the FIFTIETH FLOOR.”
I shrug. “Same thing. It’s just a place I sleep in no matter the size.”
Katie doesn’t move. She’s frozen there with her one suitcase and her fading coat, staring at my living room like it might swallow her whole. I forget sometimes how this place looks to people. To me, it’s just home with four walls and a view.
To her, it’s apparently a fever dream.
“Are you coming in? Or are you planning to stand in the doorway all night?”
She forces herself forward, and I watch her take it all in. The windows. The art. The kitchen she’s now staring at like it personally offended her.
“There’s a home theater through there.” I point. “Gym past that. Wine cellar there.”
“Wine cellar.”
“It’s small. Only about two hundred bottles.”
“Only two hundred.”
“Katie.” I bite back a smile. “You’re repeating everything I say.”
“Because none of this is REAL.” She spins around, arms wide, looking almost angry about it. “You can’t seriously expect me to live here.”
“Why not?”
“Because this is insane! This morning I was in a studio apartment with a bathroom the size of a closet, and now you’re showing me a wine cellar?”
“Your old building had mold.”
That stops her.
“I saw it when I picked you up,” I continue. “Black spots in the corner of your ceiling. You were breathing that in every night.”
“So?”
“So you’re not living there anymore.”
The moment she parts her lips to object, I can anticipate the exact defense she is going to mount about independence, pride, and her refusal to accept charity, having heard that identical speech from individuals with far less justification for their stubbornness.
“Henry, I can’t afford to split rent on a place like this. I can’t afford to split rent on the LOBBY of a place like this.”
“Who said anything about splitting rent?”
She stares at me.
“This unit has been empty for two years because I couldn’t find a tenant I liked.” I hold her gaze. “Now I have one.”
“I’m not a charity case.”
“No, you’re my girlfriend.” The word feels strange on my tongue. Not bad, just strange. “At least, that’s what everyone thinks. Hard to sell that story when you’re living in a moldy studio across town.”
She’s wavering. I can see it.
“Come on. Let me show you your room.”
I head down the hallway without waiting for an answer. After a moment, I hear her footsteps behind me.
I push open the door to the guest suite. The one I had cleaned and restocked yesterday, the one I’ve never let anyone else use, the one with the best view in the whole penthouse.
Katie stops breathing.
I try to see it through her eyes. The massive bed, the sitting area, the windows that make you feel like you’re floating above the city.
“Private bathroom through there. Walk-in closet next to it. You can decorate however you want. Change the furniture, paint the walls, whatever makes you comfortable.”
She walks past me without a word, straight to the window. The city glitters beneath us, and something in her posture softens.
“Where’s your room?”
“Opposite end of the penthouse. We share the kitchen and common areas, but otherwise, complete privacy.” I pull the key card from my pocket. “This opens the front door, the elevator, and the parking garage. Already programmed.”
She takes it slowly, turning it over in her hands like she’s not sure it’s real.
“You set the rules,” I tell her. “Whatever boundaries you need, I’ll follow them. If you want me to text before I come home, I’ll text. If you want certain nights to yourself, they’re yours, I could just go to the hotel next door. This is your space now, Katie. Not mine.”
Her throat moves. She’s trying not to cry.
I know that look. I’ve worn it myself.
“Why are you doing this?” Her voice comes out rough, almost hostile. “Really. And don’t give me some speech about revenge or Kyle or any of that. WHY?”
My instinct tells me to deflect the tension by offering a quick joke to keep the atmosphere from getting too heavy.
But she’s standing there in my guest room with nothing but a suitcase and a broken heart, and she deserves better than deflection.
“Ten years ago, I was engaged.”
Her expression shifts to surprise.
“Her name was Rebecca. We’d been together since college. Smart, beautiful, ambitious. Everything I thought I wanted.” I move to the window, keeping a few feet between us. Easier to talk when I’m not looking directly at her. “One month before our wedding, she told me she was pregnant.”
“Henry...”
“I was thrilled. Terrified, but thrilled. Started planning everything. Cribs. Schools. College funds. Told my whole family.” My jaw tightens at the memory. “Then I found out it wasn’t mine.”
Silence.
“She’d been sleeping with my business partner for six months.
I was still a fledgling entrepreneur at that time.
Anyway, she got pregnant, panicked, tried to pass it off as mine.
” I laugh, and it sounds bitter even to my own ears.
“I found out because he felt guilty. The guy screwing my fiancée behind my back suddenly grew a conscience.”
“What did you do?”
“Ended the engagement. Cut ties with both of them. Threw myself into work.” I turn to face her. “Everything I have, I built because of that day. The company. The money. The reputation. I told myself I was being driven, but really? I was just running.”
Katie doesn’t say anything. She just watches me with those eyes that see too much.
“I know what it feels like when the person you love destroys you. I know what it feels like when everyone takes their side because they’re charming, and you’re just the bitter ex who can’t move on.” I hold her gaze. “I couldn’t save myself from that. But maybe I can save you.”
The words hang between us.
“You’re not a charity case, Katie. You’re someone who got dealt a terrible hand by people who should have protected you. I have the resources to help, so I’m helping. That’s it.” I shrug. “Just one broken person recognizing another.”
She blinks rapidly, fighting tears.
“Okay.” Barely a whisper.
“Okay?”
“Okay, I’ll stay.” She clears her throat, straightening her spine. “But I’m paying rent. Something. Even if it’s just grocery money.”
“Fine. You can buy the coffee.”
“And I’m not decorating. This place is nicer than anything I could come up with.”
“Also fine.”
“And if this gets weird, if either of us starts feeling uncomfortable, we talk about it. Immediately. No festering.”
“Agreed.” I extend my hand. “Deal?”
She takes it. Her grip is firm, palm warm. I hold on a beat longer than I should before letting go.
“I’ll let you get settled. Kitchen’s fully stocked if you’re hungry.”
“Henry.”
I stop at the door.
“Thank you. For the room. For the honesty. For everything.”
My chest tightens.
“Get some sleep, Katie. Tomorrow we can figure out the rest.”
I leave before I say something stupid.
***
I can’t sleep.
This isn’t unusual. Insomnia and I have been companions since Rebecca. Some nights are better than others, but tonight my brain won’t stop spinning.
Katie is in my penthouse, sleeping fifty feet away from me.
Katie looked at me tonight like I was something more than Kyle’s uncle. Something more than a means to an end.
I pour myself a whiskey and stand at the kitchen window, watching the city lights blur together.
This is a terrible idea.
Showing up at her apartment with that ridiculous fruit basket was the first warning sign, followed closely by the mistake of offering to take her to the gala, but the absolute peak of my poor judgment was grabbing Kyle by the collar and threatening to ruin him in front of three hundred onlookers.
But I did it anyway.
Because watching Katie walk out of that courtroom, alone and broken and still somehow standing, cracked open a part of myself I’d sealed shut years ago.
She reminds me of who I used to be. Before Rebecca. Before I learned that love was just another word for leverage.
Footsteps in the hallway.
I turn, and there she is. Wrapped in the guest robe, hair messy, feet bare. She looks softer like this.
“Can’t sleep either?” I ask.
“No.”
I reach for another glass. “Whiskey?”
“Please.”
Our fingers brush when I hand it over. I pretend not to notice.
We stand in silence, both of us staring out at the city. Two insomniacs haunting the same kitchen at 2 AM.
“Tell me something normal,” she says finally. “Something that has nothing to do with Kyle or revenge or any of this mess.”
I think for a moment. “I hate cilantro.”
“What?”
“Cilantro. The herb. Can’t stand it. Tastes like soap.”
She laughs.
It bursts out of her like she can’t control it, and once it starts, she can’t stop. She’s gasping for air, eyes watering, and I’m standing here wondering how long it’s been since anyone made her laugh like that.
“It’s not THAT funny,” I say, but I’m smiling.
“It’s just...” She struggles to breathe. “We’re standing in a fifty-million-dollar penthouse, and your deep personal revelation is that you don’t like CILANTRO.”
“It’s a serious affliction. Genetic, actually. Some people have a gene that makes it taste like soap.”
“Oh, it’s GENETIC. Well then.”
“You’re mocking me.”
“I would never.”
She’s grinning now, beautifully.
“Fine. Your turn. Tell me something normal about you.”
She considers. “I can’t whistle.”
“At all?”
“Not even a little. My sister used to make fun of me for it.” A shadow crosses her face at the mention of Erin, but she pushes through. “I’ve watched probably fifty YouTube tutorials. Nothing works.”
“Show me.”
“What?”
“Show me. Try to whistle.”
“Absolutely not.”
“Come on. I told you about the cilantro.”
“That’s completely different!”
“It’s exactly the same. We’re sharing embarrassing secrets. It’s bonding.”
She narrows her eyes. “You’re enjoying this.”
“Immensely.”
She glares at me for another second, then purses her lips and blows. Nothing comes out but air. I press my lips together hard.
“Don’t,” she warns.
“I didn’t say anything.”
“Your face is saying plenty.”
I hold up my hands in surrender, but I can’t stop smiling.
We fall quiet and I refill our glasses.
“Can I ask you something?” I say.
“Anything.”
“One of these nights, would you... would you like to have dinner with me?”
I set down my glass.
“I mean it.”
“Why?”
“Why what?”
“Why me?” She gestures at herself like she’s presenting evidence of her own inadequacy. “I’m a mess. I’m unemployed. I’m technically still in the middle of a public meltdown. You could have anyone you truly like, not someone you fake date.”
“I don’t want anyone.”
Katie goes still.
“You’re brave,” I continue, because apparently I’ve lost all control of my mouth.
“You walked into a room full of people who hated you and held your head high. You watched your entire family turn against you, and you didn’t break.
You lost everything, and instead of crumbling, you started fighting. ”
“Being angry isn’t a personality trait.”
“No. But knowing what to do with that anger is.” I hold her gaze. “You’re extraordinary, Katie. You just don’t know it yet.”
Her lips part, eyes wide.
“You barely know me.”
“I know enough.” I pick up my glass again, breaking the tension before I do something I can’t take back. “Besides, we’re roommates now. Plenty of time to learn the rest.”
She doesn’t respond. She nods and takes another sip of whiskey.
We talk until sunrise.
The hours slip away completely unnoticed as our casual kitchen conversation seamlessly transitions into us sprawling out on opposite ends of the couch, leaving empty glasses abandoned while we trade stories like old friends.
She tells me about her dad’s conspiracy theories. I tell her about my first startup crashing and burning. She tells me about her failed attempt at vegetarianism. I tell her about the time I accidentally insulted a foreign diplomat because I didn’t know the word for “beautiful” in Mandarin.
She laughs at all the right moments. Asks questions that prove she’s actually listening. Doesn’t try to fill every silence with noise.
When the sky starts turning pink, I realize I haven’t thought about Rebecca once. I haven’t thought about anything except the woman sitting across from me.
“I should let you sleep,” I say finally. “You’ve been up all night.”
“So have you.”
“I’m used to it. Insomnia and I are old friends.”
She stands, stretching, and the robe shifts just enough to remind me that she’s wearing very little underneath it.
I look away.
“Thank you for tonight,” she says. “I know that sounds weird, but... thank you.”
“For what?”
“For making me feel normal. Even just for a few hours.”
Something cracks open in my chest.
“Anytime, Katie.”
She disappears down the hallway. I stay on the couch, watching the sun rise over the city, trying to remember the last time I felt this way.
I feel hopeful and also terrified.
I’ve been here before. Standing on the edge of something that felt like salvation, only to watch it crumble beneath my feet.
Rebecca taught me that love is a weapon. That trust is a vulnerability. That the people who say they care are usually the first ones to aim for your throat.
But Katie...
The way Katie looked at me tonight made me feel genuinely valued for the first time, not because of my wealth or the influence I wield, but simply for the person I am.
I don’t know what to do with the way my heart races when she laughs. The way I want to wrap her in my arms and promise her that no one will ever hurt her again.
This was supposed to be simple. Fake dating, public appearances. A mutually beneficial arrangement between two people with a common enemy.
It’s not simple anymore.
Katie Brooks is going to be the death of me and I think I’m okay with that.