Chapter 4 punish

The apartment is too quiet when I open the door, the late-night chill clinging to my skin like a warning. I slip my heels off by the door, my head still foggy from the party and the awkwardly tense ride home after dropping Sam off. The air inside feels too still, like it's been disturbed. I'm tired-inside and out. If I can't handle one night, then Italy will be the death of me. I wish someone would wake me up from this nightmare. But more than the unraveling of my heart, it's seeing him that scares me. I walked right to my fridge

That's when I see them.

A tall black bucket sitting dead center on the kitchen table, overflowing with red roses. Not just a bouquet-at least fifty red roses, blooming like blood under the dim light. My breath catches.

Someone has been in my house.

Panic flares in my chest, but then I see the note-tucked between the blooms, written in that sharp, familiar scrawl that haunts my dreams:

You know better than to walk away from me, sweetheart.

My legs nearly give out. My fingers tremble as I clutch the note, my breath uneven. Zane. Of course, it's Zane.

All it takes is those words, and I'm back there again-in his penthouse, pinned beneath him, wrists tied with his silk tie to the headboard. His voice a growl in my ear as he punishes me for walking away from him mid argument.

"You don't walk away from me. Ever." I could hear his voice loud and clear even now my heart started beating. I suddenly felt hot everywhere, how he got in my house didn't matter even slightly. I tried catching my breath. My eyes clothed. Subconsciously I inhale the scant of the roses. Good god how I wanted this man. There are nights where I forget everything and I am on his bed shattering beneath him.

The memory hits me low and hot, liquid heat curling between my thighs. My heart pounds. My body aches with the ghost of him-his mouth on my neck, the pressure of his hand at my throat, the weight of his body claiming every inch of mine. He's ruined me for anyone else. I knew that.

I swallow hard, trying to turn away from the roses, trying to focus. Breathe. But the throbbing need is already there, undeniable. I head for the bathroom, needing the cool of the tiles, the sharpness of water to clear my head. But when I step into the shower, it's not clarity I find.

It's more memories. more him.

Steam billows around me as the water pours over my skin, hot and slick, and my fingers slip lower, tracing the shape of need that's lived inside me since the first time he touched me. My eyes flutter shut. His voice echoes in my mind. His hands. The way he says my name when he's deep inside me.

I bite my lip, trying to keep quiet, my body unraveling with a soft cry as my knees buckle.

What the hell is wrong with me? I knew he did this on purpose . he knew I would end up frustrated and thoughts full of him.

I hated him. And yet...

I wrap myself in a towel, still shaking, and step into my room. My gaze flicks to the roses again.

That's when the guilt hits. Tears drop from my eyes. Zane was the only person who thought me love. Before him I never knew what it felt like the day nate told me he loved me, I went to my mothers grave to tell her she was wrong and I was worth it. I was worth of love and life unlike what she made me believe.

My mother's face flashes in my mind-angry, sunken-eyed, high out of her mind. I remember coming home at sixteen to find strange men in the house. The shouting. The crashing bottles. The times I'd hidden in the closet, covering my ears.

"You think you're better than me?" my mother had screamed once, staggering through the hallway. I wasn't. Was she f*ck*ng right This whole time? I have always blamed her for her f*ck ups but now how could I? how many men have broken her? How many men have used her?

I swallow the lump in my throat. My mother had been many things-addict, liar, manipulative. Living with her was hell. And she's gone. Dead. The day she died I was relieved for both of us. Because for her it was a break from everything and for me, one more day with her meant hanging my self from the ceiling.

She died in a crash I barely talk about. A crash that shaped everything. the crash That gave her a break from this f*ck*d *p world, from living from one jail to the other from one mental hospital to other. Giving me scars along the way.

My phone buzzes. Sam.

I pick up.

"Hey," Sam says, her voice soft. "You home okay?"

"Yeah," I reply. "Dropped you off. You were completely gone."

"I'm never drinking again," Sam groans. Then, more serious, "You okay?"

I hesitate. "I... someone was in my apartment." I tell her, incase he didn't drop them off himself

"What?!" she exclaims.

"Roses. A note. From him."

Sam curses. "That's not romantic, Suzzane. That's weird. he walked away_ " I stopped her

"I know," I say. But it isn't just weird. It's electric. It's complicated. Its f*ck*ng hot. I tried not to read the note in my mind. if only she knew how much I resisted touching myself in the thoughts of him tonight. he knew exactly what to do. exactly how to get under my skin.

We talk for a bit longer, Sam telling me I'd better sleep with a bat under my bed and maybe call the cops. But we both know I won't. Not for Zane.

The next morning, I throw on my black pencil skirt, a crisp white blouse, and heels. My armor. The girl I have to be at work. The capable one. The one who didn't just crumble in the shower the night before.

My office is already buzzing ,when I arrive. I work in PR-specifically crisis management-and I'm good at it. The best, according to Mr. Johnathan, my sharp-eyed, shark-suited boss who doesn't smile unless there's a camera around. This guy was a photophobic.

"Late," he says, as I pass his glass-walled office.

"Only by five minutes," I reply with my sweetest smile.

He waves me in. my heels clicked on the floor.

Inside, Josh is already sitting there.

Great.

"Morning," Josh says, flashing that annoyingly charming smile.

My stomach flips, but not the way it used to. Not now. Not after last night.

"We've got the Lewis account fire," Johnathan barks. "The CEO's mistress just posted their text messages online. I need both of you on it. Today."

"Got it," I say, already switching to work mode.

Josh watches me too closely. "You sure you're okay?" he asks once we're alone.

"I'm fine."

"You disappeared last night. With him."

"Josh..."

He holds up his hands. "I get it. He's hard to compete with. But he is the one who broke up with you. and I don't like the way he looks at you." I like all ways he looked at me

I blink. "How does he look at me?"

"Like you're already his. Like he'd burn the world down if not? That sh*t is scary suz."

My heart skips. Because Josh is right. It was scary. But was I scared is another question by itself.

The day passes in a blur of emails, calls, and strategy meetings. By the time I get home, my heels ache, my brain's fried, and I want nothing but wine and silence. I threw my heals and purse everywhere and go to my fridge, cold water looked like a dream. I closed my fridge putting the jar back, then i was about to pass to my bed room, when i saw a black car parked down my apartment through my glass wall. it was nothing creepy. when I felt it.

The hairs on the back of my neck stand up as I step rolled the curtians with one hand . Standing right at the glass window of my apartment.

I turn my head slowly, breath catching in my throat.

There he is.

Outside. Across the street. Leaning on a black car. Watching me through the window like he's been waiting all day. No expression. Just that intense, soul-stripping stare.

I move closer, drawn like a moth to a flame. The lights in my kitchen spill golden onto my skin as I face him, bare feet on the tiles.

I don't wave. Don't speak.

But my body screams with awareness.

And he doesn't look away.

Not once