Chapter 4 Beneath the Surface

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Chapter 4: Beneath the Surface

The ribbon was still on the floor when Lena woke.

Fredrick was gone, but his scent lingered - dark, smoky, expensive. She sat up slowly, legs still trembling from the night before, and stared at the black velvet lying beside her bed like a dare.

She picked it up and slipped it into her bag.

Not a trophy. A reminder.

⸻

Back at the penthouse, Alfred was in the kitchen, shirtless, barefoot, cooking eggs like nothing had changed. But something had. Lena felt it the second she stepped inside - a different kind of tension, quieter, but sharp.

He didn't look at her right away. Just flipped the eggs, set the pan aside.

"I saw you leave with him."

Lena didn't flinch. "You said you wanted slow."

"I did. I still do." He finally turned. "But I also want honesty."

She stepped closer, barefoot on the cold marble, and met his gaze.

"Then ask what you want to ask."

Alfred studied her for a long moment. "Did he give you what you needed?"

The question hit harder than she expected.

Lena crossed her arms, suddenly aware of how exposed she felt in just an oversized T-shirt. "He gave me something."

"But not everything."

"No," she said. "Not everything."

He nodded like he already knew.

Then: "Come with me. Just you."

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He didn't take her to a club or a rooftop. He took her to a quiet loft - brick walls, low light, a bed stripped bare of drama. No mirrors. No silk. Just clean sheets and truth.

"I need you," Alfred said, closing the door behind them. "But not like Fredrick does."

Lena turned to face him. "Then how?"

Alfred stepped in close, hands sliding around her waist.

"I want to know what breaks you," he said. "And I want to be the one to hold you after."

It wasn't a line. It wasn't a seduction.

It was a promise.

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He stripped her slow - not to tease, but to witness. Every inch he uncovered, he kissed. Not hungrily. Reverently. Like her skin mattered. Like it told a story he wanted to learn.

When she was bare, he didn't rush to touch her. He pulled her onto his lap, arms around her, holding her like she was something precious.

It scared her more than the sex ever did.

Because she wanted to be seen that way. And she hadn't been. Not by Michael. Not even by Fredrick.

Only Sophia had ever come close.

But this - this was different.

She cupped his face and kissed him soft. Slow. Thankful.

They didn't fuck.

They made love.

The word felt dangerous. Loaded. Real.

But when she came with her head pressed against his chest, heart pounding in time with his, Lena knew the difference.

And it scared the hell out of her.

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She stayed the night.

Woke tangled in Alfred's sheets, ribbon still in her bag, heart heavier than before.

He was watching her when she opened her eyes.

"You disappear when you sleep," he whispered. "Like your mind tries to slip out of your body."

She touched his cheek. "And you're pulling it back in?"

"If you'll let me."

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Back at the penthouse, Sophia was waiting.

Not angry. Not cold.

But knowing.

"You're not just fucking them anymore," she said, handing Lena a coffee.

"No," Lena admitted. "I'm not."

Sophia lit a cigarette. "Careful. They'll break you without meaning to."

"Maybe I want to be broken."

Sophia turned sharply. "No, you don't. You want to be remade."

"And you think you know the difference?"

"I do," Sophia said, stepping close. "Because I broke myself once. For someone who didn't know how to put me back together."

Lena reached out, touched her hand. "Tell me who."

Sophia's lips twitched. "Later."

⸻

Later came in the form of a text from Fredrick.

Fredrick:

Dinner. No games. Just us.

Sophia read over Lena's shoulder. "Careful."

"I thought you liked him."

"I do. But he doesn't feel the way Alfred does. He wants. That's different."

Lena didn't reply.

Because she wanted, too.

⸻

Dinner was on Fredrick's yacht.

Private. Quiet. Ocean air and candlelight.

He wore no tie. Poured her wine. Talked about his childhood - rougher than she expected. Abandonment. Power. Control. All the things he'd built himself out of.

And for once, he didn't flirt. He just... opened.

Lena touched his hand halfway through the meal. "Why me?"

He looked her dead in the eye. "Because you don't flinch."

She smiled. "Not yet."

Fredrick leaned in. "Then tell me when you do."

⸻

That night, they didn't fuck.

They sat wrapped in blankets, looking at stars.

He held her like he didn't know how to ask for more.

She let him.

And somewhere, far off, the line between lust and something deeper blurred again.

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By the time Lena returned to the penthouse, Sophia was asleep on the couch, a half-drunk glass of red wine on the table, and Alfred was nowhere to be found.

Lena stood in the dark living room, alone for the first time in days, ribbon in hand.

Not tied.

Not given.

Still hers.

For now.