15. Lena
Lena
T he room is dark when I step inside. Not dim.
Not cozy. A heavy kind of silence wraps around everything, like the air itself is holding its breath.
Moonlight cuts through the tall windows.
No curtains, so the moonlight slices across the floor in pale silver.
I catch the outline of a tall-backed armchair near the glass.
I can’t see his face. Only one arm draped over the side, motionless. An empty glass on the floor catches the light, almost glowing. Then his voice comes, low, rough, and raw. “Whoever you are, leave now.”
It hits me like a slap. I wasn’t ready for the sound of him. I move toward him, heart in my throat.
“Hi, Dominic.”
“I said I don’t want to see anyone. Who gave you the key?”
“Someone who figured ‘ anyone ’ doesn’t include the wife.”
“Ah. Playing the wife card now.”
“I’ve been looking for you all day.”
“Well, you found me. Now you can leave. Today’s not the day for your usual cleverness. Save it. You can hit me with it tomorrow.”
“I’m not leaving.”
What day is it? What’s going on with Dominic?
The bartender barely said a word. He just handed me the keycard and disappeared. Now I’m here, in this room, right next to Dominic. And whatever he’s hiding, it stops now.
“Lena, this isn’t a game. We’re not flirting. We’re not sparring. You leave. I stay. We’ll pick this up again tomorrow.”
“What’s with today? Why is everyone at the hotel covering for you?”
“Because they’re loyal. Or afraid I’ll fire them. You don’t seem to fall into either category.”
I edge forward, toward the chair. Dominic turns his head, finally looking at me.
Moonlight glints in his eyes, just enough to light up half his face. The rest stays in shadow. Quiet, unreadable.
He hasn’t shaved. His hair’s a mess, falling carelessly across his forehead.
He’s only wearing a shirt, sleeves rolled up, collar open.
There’s something raw about him. Disheveled and still devastating.
But it’s the look on his face that gets to me—lost, guarded, his mouth twisted into something bitter, like he’s keeping things buried under the surface.
“Sassy,” he says, voice low, “even if it’s not explicitly in the contract, marriage comes with an unspoken rule: when your husband wants to be left the hell alone, you leave him alone.”
“I didn’t know you wanted to be alone.”
Not my best line. Damn it.
“No? You didn’t pick up on the fact that if I’m not at the apartment, not at my office, and not answering my phone, I might not want to be found?”
My mouth opens, then closes. There’s no good comeback.
“Why did you come here? Be honest, Sassy. That’s what I like most about you. You don’t sugarcoat anything. Tell me, sweetheart.” He says it with a smirk, all mockery and challenge, and for some reason, that’s exactly what pushes my buttons.
“I thought you were with a woman. And everyone was covering for you.” It comes out before I can stop it. He asked for honesty… well, here it is.
Dominic stands and turns to face me. Towering, unreadable. “Jealous?” he asks, a flicker of something sharp in his voice.
“You do realize that means you feel something for me.” He takes a step closer. “After all the times you pushed me away… every fight we had when I asked for the bare minimum?”
His eyes stay locked on mine. “And now you’re upset at the idea of me being with someone else?”
A slow, crooked smile tugs at his mouth. “Sassy, you never stop surprising me.” He lets the silence stretch. “Hell, you’re making this fake marriage thing way more interesting than I ever imagined.”
He lifts a hand, like he’s about to touch me.
Like the impulse is stronger than him. His shirt is unbuttoned almost to his waist. I can see the full stretch of his chest, broad, lean, and defined.
His pecs shift slightly as he moves, followed by the ridges of his abs, flexing under his skin like muscle memory. Effortless.
His scent hits next. A trace of whiskey mixed with the warm, addictive pull of his skin. It’s not the cologne. It’s the chemistry. That blend of heat and instinct that sinks straight into my gut.
My body reacts before I can stop it. I take a step back. He lowers his hand and rubs his jaw with the other, rough with stubble, like he’s trying to shake something off.
“Or maybe it’s just your ego,” he mutters. “Yeah… I’d believe revenge over tenderness from you any day. So tell me, are you here to claim your man?”
“I’m not jealous. Don’t be silly.”
He raises an eyebrow, inviting me to go on.
“I’m curious. That’s who I am. I’m a journalist. Secrets get under my skin.”
I watch his face for a moment. He frowns, then leans down to pick up the glass from the floor. He crosses the room and pours himself a drink, but doesn’t take a sip.
I step closer, close enough to see him in the low light. “I don’t think you’re holed up in here drinking by yourself because I rejected you.”
A sigh escapes me. “There’s something else going on. Something real.” I meet his eyes, not backing down. “Will you tell me?”
“Smart woman. That’s the only thing I got right when I married you. The rest? Not so much.”
Drenched in sarcasm, as always. He lifts the glass, then nods toward it. “You want some?” I shake my head. “Shame. If you’re here to keep me company, don’t just stand there. Drink with me.”
“If I do… will you finally talk?”
“Deal.”
He hands me the glass. I lift it. The whiskey burns down my throat, hot and sharp, enough to make me blink. He takes it back and sets it on the table.
And after that, without warning, he takes my wrist and pulls me close. His other arm slides around me, quick and desperate. His hand finds the back of my head and draws me into a kiss. No sweetness. Only raw need.
For a second, I’m too stunned to move. His mouth finds mine before I can speak, insistent, all heat and no explanation. His hand slips lower—and that’s it. I shove him back and slap him. Hard.
He doesn’t flinch. Doesn’t even blink. Simply turns away, walks to the armchair, and drops into it like something inside him gave out.
“Scene’s over, Mrs. Monti. You should go.” His voice is cold. And wrecked.
What the hell did I do?
I can’t leave now. Dominic’s in pain. And no matter what just happened, I can’t walk away. He’s nothing like the man I know. Something about him tonight feels shaken, raw. Like something inside him cracked open. This isn’t some mood. It’s deep, real.
I lower myself slowly, settling between his knees. My palms rest lightly on his legs. No pressure, nothing more than presence.
“I’m sorry, Dominic. Whatever this is… whatever you’re going through… I’m sorry.”
He doesn’t push me away. But he doesn’t look at me either. He just stares past me, lost somewhere I can’t reach.
“I get it,” he says quietly. “You despise me for wanting you. And if you knew who I really am, you’d despise me even more.”
He pauses, voice starting to break. “I’m terrible at taking care of the people I love. And yet I told you I’d protect you. Might be nothing more than another broken promise, Mrs. Monti.”
“You’re the most selfless, generous, protective man I’ve ever met,” I say slowly, each word deliberate. He blinks, then arches a brow. “Right. Says the woman who slapped me for wanting her.”
I drop my gaze. “I’m sorry,” I whisper. “Just a reflex.”
He lifts my chin with two fingers, gently but firmly, forcing me to meet his eyes. It’s like he’s trying to read something in me.
“Reflex from what, Lena? Have you had to defend yourself a lot? Physically, I mean?”
His eyes are on me now. Searching. “Of course you have. Fucking Anton.”
I don’t answer. I can’t. He leans in, voice slow, grounded.
“I’m not him. I don’t take what’s not freely given. I don’t use force. And I sure as hell don’t need to. I touch you like a man who wants his wife. And I never forget you’re a woman first. Not something to conquer. But someone to worship.”
He holds my gaze. I try to match it, but I can't. I glance down. My throat is tight. My pulse scatters in too many places at once. God, why can’t I control myself around him?
I like the way he touches me. The heat. The way it scrambles my thoughts. But he can’t know that. This can’t be about me—not when something’s clearly breaking inside him.
I take a breath and bring things back to where they need to be.
“Whatever it is, Dominic… you don’t have to carry it alone. Talk to me. Anything. I can take it.”
He blinks. “Anything, Sassy? Really?”
There’s a hint of hope in his voice. His fingers shift from my chin to my cheek, then graze my lips, barely touching. He tucks a loose strand of hair behind my ear and leans in slightly, still silent. His eyes say more than his mouth does, tracing every part of my face in the moonlight.
“You know, Lena, I’ve thought about it... I’ve hoped, even, maybe you could be...”
He stops. I stand still. I don’t want to scare the thought away.
“You could be the one for me,” he says at last. “I’ve had that thought since the night you crashed into me at the club. You were feisty.”
I smile. Let him touch my face. I’m still kneeling on the floor beside him.
“You fought me every time I asked you to do something,” he says, this time softly. “But when I asked you to be my wife, you said yes.”
Fake wife would be more accurate. But this isn’t the moment for technicalities. He’s about to say something that matters.
“I kept thinking… maybe I could get a little love. Even if I don’t deserve it.
You have love to give, Lena, I know you do.
I see it. But for some reason, you choose to keep it from me.
And the thing that scares me the most? If you ever knew the whole truth about me…
whatever hope I’ve been holding on to would fall apart completely. ”
I stare up at him. His face is calm, but his voice cracks on the last word. Just enough to slice right through me.