Chapter 7
Tessa
Who did Felix think he was?
I flipped over on the lumpy sofa I had been sleeping on—a mild upgrade from the loveseat—and screamed into the pillow.
The man had the audacity to stare at me like I was…
what? Something to be claimed? I’d been cleaning for hours, scrubbing floors and wiping away decades of grime, and he waltzed in, all charm and dangerous intent, reminding me I was his payment for my dad’s gambling debt.
“Unbelievable,” I said into the cushion, and it came out muffled.
And yet, as much as I hated to admit it, I couldn’t stop replaying the way he’d looked at me. That slow, dark smile. Those fingers on my jaw.
Ugh. No. I wasn’t thinking about that. Not about Felix. Not ever.
I shoved the pillow off my face and sat up, rubbing my temples.
How had I ended up in this situation? Suddenly, dancing naked on stage sounded a lot better than dealing with Felix.
At least on stage, the rules were clear.
I’d get tips and applause, and there’d be no dark, sexy men making my pulse race just by standing in the same room.
Here, it was like living in a warzone where every glance could be a trap, and I was the prize he wasn’t afraid to claim.
I glanced around the room. The floorboards creaked ominously, the walls were peeling, and yet he’d somehow made me notice everything except the filth. The way he moved, the way he looked at me… ugh. I shook my head again, trying to banish the thought. Focus, Tessa. Focus.
I got up, stretching, trying to convince myself I wasn’t even remotely affected. Yeah, right.
I grabbed a mug from the counter that was cracked, chipped, and probably harboring more germs than I cared to imagine, and poured myself a cup of coffee that tasted like burnt hope. Perfect.
I needed a plan. Felix wasn’t just some annoying man I could avoid; he was my constant, looming shadow now, and ignoring him wasn’t an option. And yet, every time I thought about the way he’d looked at me… damn it, why did he have to be so infuriatingly attractive?
I should hate him. He took me away from my life, and now I was basically a hostage forced to clean.
Not that the life he took me from was great. Dead-end shifts, my dad’s gambling debts, and a constant hum of stress had been my reality. But at least it was mine.
I missed my father. Was he paying the rent, or had he skipped it again?
Eating, or surviving on chips and whatever beer he had left?
Was he even sleeping properly, or just tossing and turning, worrying about me the way I worried about him?
I wished I could call, check in, make sure he was alright.
But for now, all I could do was hope he was holding it together.
“Another day, another cleaning session,” I said to no one.
Felix came home late and left early most of the time. It was often just me, the dust bunnies, and the spiders.
I stood up and grimaced. My feet hadn’t been healing properly after getting ripped open on the asphalt. I didn’t have any shoes to wear, and I’d been walking around the house all day like some kind of barefoot casualty. Every step made me wince, but I had to keep going. I always kept going.
After I had finished his bedroom Felix had given me orders to start on the kitchen. I wasn’t sure why. He didn’t seem like the type who cook for himself. But, I didn’t ask questions. Asking questions had a way of backfiring.
I stood in the kitchen, blinking at the chaos like it was some kind of abstract art.
Counters disappeared under stacks of unopened mail, stray utensils, random papers, and crumbs that had probably been there since the last apocalypse.
I groaned and started sorting, tossing, and relocating, creating little piles just to make room to even think about cleaning.
I sighed and rolled up my sleeves, bracing myself for the years old sticky counters, greasy stovetop, and mystery crumbs that littered the floor. Another day, another room, another chance to pretend I wasn’t completely overwhelmed by the sheer chaos of this place, and the man who ruled it.
I started with the counters, scraping crumbs that had probably been there since the last apocalypse.
The sink was buried under dishes, some crusted with mystery gunk that made me gag.
I scrubbed the worst ones first, but every time I cleared a plate or pot, three more seemed to appear, as if the clutter was breeding.
The stove came next—grease like a second skin—and I cursed under my breath as I sprayed, scrubbed, and wiped until my arms ached. I moved on to the floors, sweeping up dust bunnies that could have formed their own nation, then mopped, slipping once and muttering curses at my sore feet.
I cleaned the fridge, tossing out expired condiments and mystery leftovers that could have been used as science experiments. I scrubbed the shelves until they shined, grimacing at the goo that clung stubbornly.
The cabinets weren’t much better. I had to dig through old Tupperware, expired snacks, and forgotten spice jars just to make space. Every corner I cleared revealed another hidden mess—crumbs, sticky spills, and rogue utensils waiting to ambush my sore feet.
I glanced out the window. The sun was getting low in the sky and I wasn’t even halfway done.
As I moved to the far counter, my elbow caught a loose strip of peeling wallpaper near the corner. It flapped slightly, revealing wood that looked fresher than everything else in here. Curiosity piqued despite my exhaustion, I leaned closer and peeled it back further.
Etched into the wood were dozens of dates, scratched in neat, precise lines. My brow furrowed as I traced my fingers over them. They didn’t look random; someone had been keeping track of something, marking the passage of time.
“What the fuck?” I muttered, stepping back. Who carved all this? And why the hell were they hiding it behind peeling wallpaper?
It was probably an older person who lived here before—the decor gave it away—and they probably did it. Senile, bored, carving random shit into the walls. I shook my head and muttered, “Ok, then.”
I pressed the wallpaper back into place, as best as it would go. I needed to show Felix I was making progress, so the place needed to look as clean as possible when he got home.
Sighing, I took a step back and scanned the kitchen.
It was still a mess. I had shoved expired food and old pans into boxes to be thrown away, but piles of clutter still dominated the counters and corners.
Every time I cleared one area, another seemed to emerge, as if the kitchen was conspiring against me.
“Just standing around?” Felix’s voice whispered into the shell of my ear.
I shrieked, stumbling backward and nearly toppling over a stack of boxes. My heart slammed against my ribs as I spun around, eyes wide.
“What the fuck!” I exclaimed, hands flying to my chest as I tried to calm my racing pulse. “Don’t just sneak up on me like that!”
Felix stepped closer, smirk dark and dangerous. “Don’t get distracted.” His voice dropped low. “You should be earning your keep. Don’t forget why you’re here.”
I squared my shoulders, glaring up at him. “Oh, believe me, I remember. I’m scrubbing, sweeping, shoving expired food into boxes. I’m sorry the mafia prince’s abode isn’t sparkling yet.”
Felix leaned in just enough that I could feel the heat radiating off him. “Do you really?” He murmured, voice low, each word dragging out. “Let me remind you, just in case.”
A shiver ran down my spine despite my best efforts to stay defiant. His dark eyes held mine, teasing, claiming, and somehow daring me to look away.
He stepped closer, dangerously close, and my breath hitched. Before I could think, he was behind me, one hand brushing my hip, the other guiding the rag in my hand against the counter.
“Like this,” he murmured, pressing just enough to make me notice the weight of his body behind me.
My pulse spiked, heat pooling in places it shouldn’t.
I tried to focus on the task, on the cleaning.
But the way his chest pressed against my back, the way his fingers brushed mine as he guided the motion… it was impossible.
“Wh-what are you doing?” I sputtered, my hands frozen on the rag.
Felix’s smirk widened, his breath warm against my ear. “Helping,” he said, pressing just a little closer. “You’ve got the technique all wrong. Let me show you how to do it properly.”
I swallowed hard, heat pooling in my chest. “I-I don’t need help!” I protested, though my voice wavered, betraying my nerves.
“I know you don’t need help,” he chuckled, pressing closer behind me. “I know you don’t need help. Yet here I am. Seems unfair not to take advantage, don’t you think?”
My heart raced, thrumming against my ribs like a wild bird desperate to escape. I could feel the warmth radiating from his body, felt the tension thickening the air around us, and it made my already chaotic thoughts spiral further out of control.
“Felix…” I murmured, voice shaky, barely loud enough to count as protest. My hands trembled on the rag, my pulse hammering like a drum in my skull. This was insane. Dangerous. Wrong. And yet I couldn’t stop noticing.
He chuckled softly, that low, dangerous sound that made my pulse spike even more. “Relax,” he murmured, brushing a strand of hair from my neck. “Just work with me.”
Felix moved my hand, his fingers covering mine as he guided the rag along the countertop. My stomach tightened at the contact, and I couldn’t decide whether to pull away or lean into him.
His other hand rested lightly on my hip, steadying me, pressing just enough that I could feel the weight of his body behind me. Every brush of his skin against mine sent a jolt through me, making my thoughts scatter like leaves in a storm.
I tried to focus on the counter, on the crumbs, on the scrubbing, but it was impossible. My heart was hammering, my pulse racing, and every nerve ending in my body seemed to be screaming at me to notice him, to notice how close he was.
Heat pooled low in my belly, sharp and insistent, and I had to bite the inside of my cheek to stop from making some sound I would immediately regret. My hands moved with his guidance, but my mind was a chaotic mess of disbelief, attraction, and frustration.
I wasn’t supposed to feel like this. I wasn’t supposed to want him to be this close. And yet every movement, every touch, made it harder to pretend that I wasn’t already lost.
And just like that, he pulled away. My hand dropped slightly, the rag wobbling against the counter. My pulse felt like it had been ripped in two, the sudden emptiness where his body had been almost unbearable.
“See?” he said, voice low and teasing, a smirk in every syllable. “Nothing wrong with a little guidance.”
I swallowed hard, trying to steady my racing thoughts, but it was useless. My chest still throbbed, my hands still tingled from where his fingers had brushed mine, and my mind refused to cooperate.
I leaned back slightly, my hands still shaking, heart hammering in my chest. Every nerve screamed, every thought was a mess, and I couldn’t tell if I was angry, scared, or something else entirely.
One thing was certain: living here with him was going to be far more dangerous—and far more distracting—than I ever imagined.