Chapter 21
Rina
The apartment door closes behind me, the sound oddly quiet against the weight pressing down on my chest. For a moment, I stand in the darkness. My dress clings to my skin, damp from sweat, and everything that happened with Oliver. I feel suspended in the quiet aftermath of something I can’t undo.
I drop my clutch on the counter and lean against the wall, squeezing my eyes shut. My nerves haven’t stopped buzzing since we fucked in the bathroom. Since he forced me to admit that what I feel runs deeper than surface-level lust.
You have feelings for me. Stop trying to deny it.
The line loops through my mind like a refrain I can’t silence.
I kick off my heels and head straight for the bathroom.
The tile is cool beneath my feet, and steam rises the second I twist the knob, the hiss of water filling the silence.
After stripping down, I step under the spray.
The water beats against my shoulders, washing away the makeup, the perfume, the illusion of composure I wore to dinner.
What it doesn’t wash away is him.
His scent.
His touch.
It doesn’t wash away the sound of my voice breaking when I begged him to bury his cock deep inside me.
I press my palms to the wall and bow my head.
“It was a mistake,” I whisper. “Nothing more than sex.”
Even as I say it, my throat tightens around the lie.
What we did wasn’t just physical.
It was a reckoning.
He doesn’t just make me lose control.
He makes me want to lose control.
In the past, control has always meant safety. But with him, safety feels like a cage, and danger feels like freedom.
Once my fingers turn pruney, I dry off and wrap myself in a towel. Only then do I catch my reflection in the mirror. My lips are swollen, my neck marked, my hair a wild mess. I don’t recognize the woman in the mirror.
What Oliver makes me feel is unlike anything else I’ve ever experienced. I come alive under his hands. He’s the only one capable of making my brain click off until there’s nothing left but sensation.
It’s addictive.
Scary.
And there’s a part of me that wants more.
Wants all of him.
I’ve never felt so conflicted in my life.
I wander into the living room with the towel knotted tight around me. On the side table, a framed photo of my mother catches the reflection of the moonlight. Her smile is perfectly composed, pearls at her throat, posture flawless. It was taken right after my father walked out.
I remember that day.
She’d dressed us in our Sunday best and insisted we pose for the camera, like holding still could make everything stop unraveling around us. But if you looked close enough, you could see the strain in her eyes.
The first lesson she ever taught me was how to make survival look effortless.
How to smile while your life falls apart and call it composure.
Sometimes I catch myself doing the same thing.
The phone vibrates, knocking me from the past.
Mom.
She’d called earlier and I let it go to voicemail. Instead of doing it again, I pick up, needing to hear the sound of her voice. Needing to ground myself in something that feels steady.
“Hey,” I say, trying for normal. “You’re up late.”
“I just got back from a faculty function, and thought I’d check in since we got cut short the other day. I never heard back from you. Busy with work, I assume?”
“Yeah, it’s been hectic. One thing after another. You know how it is.”
“That’s life, darling. You really should give more consideration to starting your own agency.”
I tighten the towel around my body. “I already told you, Mom. Maybe someday in the future, but not now. It’s just not the right time.”
“The problem is that it’ll never be the right time. Kind of like having children,” she says with a light laugh. “Sometimes you just have to take the plunge.”
“By having a child?” I say, well aware that’s not what she meant at all.
“God, no. I mean starting your own business. Just think about it, that’s all I’m asking.”
Even though I have no intention of doing it, I say, “I will, all right?”
There’s a moment of silence before she changes the topic. “Oh, you’ll never guess who I ran into the other day.” She doesn’t wait for me to respond before barreling on. “Priya Patel from down the block. She married a lawyer and now has two kids. They’re buying a house in Evanston.”
“I remember when she couldn’t even keep a goldfish alive,” I mutter.
“She seems happy enough. Although, I’m sure it won’t be long before the wheels fall off, and she finds out he’s cheating on her.”
“That’s really dark, Mom.” I shake my head even though she can’t see me do it.
Her laugh is quiet and knowing. “Maybe. But I think we both know how jaded I am.”
I hesitate. “I guess I shouldn’t bother asking if you’re seeing anyone.”
There’s a pause. “Who has time for relationships when grants need to be written and classes need to be taught?”
I swallow hard, unsure whether I envy her certainty or pity it.
She yields a fraction, but not much. “What about you? Have you been out lately?”
I exhale, forcing a nonchalance I don’t feel. “No one serious.”
The response feels like a lie. What I want is for Oliver to be more of a temporary situation. But there’s nothing casual about the way he’s taken root under my skin.
“That’s for the best,” she says briskly. “You know how men are. They’ll take what they want and then leave you to clean up the mess. I just want you to be smart.”
“I am smart,” I bite out, more defensively than I mean to.
“I know.” Her tone gentles, the way it always does right before the knife slips in. “You feel things so deeply, Rina. And when you do, it comes at a cost. Just be smart about things. Don’t hand that kind of power over to just anyone.”
I close my eyes as the truth sinks in.
Too late.
My throat burns. “I won’t.”
“I’m proud of you. You built a life on your own terms, and you’re not dependent on anyone. That’s strength, baby. Don’t ever lose it.”
There it is. The mantra I grew up with.
Independence above all else.
I force a smile. “I won’t.”
“Good.” The approval in her tone is cool and practiced. “Now, get some sleep. You sound like you need it.”
“Night, Mom.”
“Night, sweetheart.”
The line disconnects, and I stare at my phone until the screen fades to black, her voice still ringing in my head.
You’re not dependent on anyone.
I sink to the edge of the couch, towel loosening around me in the process. The photo of her gleams faintly from across the room, that perfect smile frozen in place.
She’s everything I was raised to become.
Polished.
Unflinching.
Alone.
Maybe she’s right about strength.
Or maybe strength is knowing when to stop pretending you’re not looking for something more.
I don’t know.
And that’s the problem.
My reflection stares back at me from the window, pale and hollow, the outline of a woman who thought she’d mastered the art of composure.
“I’m fine,” I whisper to myself.
The lie settles like lead in the quiet as my phone lights up again.
Big D: I was serious, baby. We’re not done.
My fingers hover over the screen before curling into a fist. I push away from the couch and head into the bedroom, the pad of my footsteps the only sound in the quiet apartment. After setting the phone face down on the nightstand, I slip into a tank top and shorts before sliding beneath the sheets.
Only then do I reach for the phone. I stare at the device for a few moments before setting it back down again and sinking deeper into the sheets, letting the quiet wrap around me.
But sleep doesn’t come easily.
Every time I close my eyes, I feel his hands.
His mouth.
I hear his voice.
There’s no more running, Rina.
I press my face into the pillow, inhaling deeply, as if that will be enough to smother the memory.
Tomorrow, I’ll wake up and find my balance again.
Tomorrow, I’ll be strong enough to resist him.