I shift against the silk sheets, forcing my breathing into a steady rhythm despite the adrenaline coursing through my veins. 11:43 p.m. The digits on my phone mock me as I pretend to check social media one last time before sleep.
Four cameras. I mapped their positions. Remy’s idea of protection feels more like surveillance, and knowing him, there are probably more I haven’t spotted yet.
My laptop sits on the bedside table, a sleek machine that’s been “adjusted” for my safety. I want to laugh at the irony. Every keystroke and every click will be monitored, analyzed, and dissected. The USB drive burns a hole in my consciousness from its hiding place, containing evidence that could shatter everything.
Through the floor-to-ceiling windows, Chicago’s lights paint shadows across my prison. Forty stories up in this gilded cage, and I’ve never felt more trapped. A helicopter passes, its searchlight briefly illuminating my room. I wonder if Remy is watching the feed right now.
I release my death grip on the sheets, forcing my fingers to relax. One wrong move, and everything falls apart. My laptop’s operating system needs specific modifications to bypass his monitoring software, but I’ll only get one shot at it with the spy application Remy had installed. My mind races through the sequence of commands I’ll need—a dance of keystrokes that must be perfect the first time, but at least I still have it. I could work without my personal phone, but my laptop, that is more complicated.
The ventilation system hums, a constant reminder of the building’s surveillance infrastructure. Every movement could trigger an alert. I roll onto my side, maintaining the facade of someone trying to find a comfortable position to sleep.
I throw off the covers, my skin burning despite the cool air. The memory of Remy’s kiss in the studio haunts me. His touch lingers like a brand, and I hate how my body responds to the mere thought of him.
Padding across the plush carpet, I move to the window. Chicago sprawls below, a glittering maze of lights and shadows. Free. Everyone down there is free while I’m caged in this fortress of luxury with cameras tracking my every move.
The red recording light blinks steadily, and I imagine him. Is he at his desk right now, those dark eyes fixed on the monitors? The thought sends an unwanted shiver down my spine. Eight years ago, I walked away. I was stronger then. Now, the weight of his presence suffocates me, even through the digital distance of his surveillance.
My reflection stares back at me in the glass—hair tousled from restless tossing, tank top twisted around my torso. I straighten it with trembling fingers, furious at my own weakness. This attraction is a liability I can’t afford, not with everything at stake.
I pace the room, my bare feet silent on the carpet. Each turn brings me face-to-face with another camera. Another reminder of his control. The walls feel closer with each pass, the ceiling lower. Even the air feels charged, heavy with unspoken tension.
I press my forehead against the cool glass, watching a helicopter sweep past with its searchlight. The distance between this penthouse and the ground stretches like the years between who we were and who we are now. Back then, I saw him clearly. Now, every glance, every touch muddles my judgment.
The ventilation system hums, but it can’t drown out my thoughts. I need to focus on the investigation, on staying alive. But my treacherous mind keeps circling back to the studio, to that moment when control shattered and instinct took over.
I throw back the covers, swing my legs over the side of the bed, and go to turn on the light. My bare feet sink into the plush carpet as I stand, each movement deliberate, calculated for the cameras’ benefit. The darkness wraps around me, broken only by Chicago’s glow through the windows.
At my bedroom door, I pause, hand hovering over the handle. The metal feels cool against my palm as I push it open. The hallway stretches before me, shadows dancing across the walls from the city lights below. My steps are silent as I move toward the kitchen, but my chest tightens with each forward motion.
I’m not hungry. The thought hits me as I reach the kitchen entrance, and I pivot on my heel. My skin prickles under the weight of unseen eyes. The cameras track my retreat, recording every step, every hesitation.
Back in my room, I slip into the en suite bathroom. The door closes behind me with a decisive click, and I exhale. Overheadlights flare to life, harsh and unforgiving against the marble surfaces. My reflection fragments across multiple mirrors, each showing a woman trying to maintain control.
I run my fingers along the crown molding, checking every corner, every seam where a camera might hide. The marble is cold beneath my feet as I move methodically through the space. Nothing. No red lights, no subtle glints of hidden lenses. Just smooth surfaces and expensive fixtures.
My hand shakes as I turn the shower knob. Water thunders against tile, and steam begins to rise. I press my back against the wall, letting the cool surface ground me. The bathroom fills with fog, creating a cocoon of privacy I desperately need.
Here, away from his digital eyes, I can finally breathe. My pulse slows as condensation beads on the mirrors, obscuring my reflection. This moment of solitude feels stolen, precious in its rarity. I close my eyes and let the steam envelop me, knowing I need this clarity to think, to plan, to remember my purpose.
The warm water cascades over my skin, steam rising around me in billing plumes. I tilt my head back, letting the heat soak into my muscles. But instead of easing the tension, it only heightens my awareness, making me more alert and more restless.
Remy’s kiss lingers on my lips, a phantom pressure that won’t fade. I hate that he has this power over me, even now, after everything. My hands move instinctively to my breasts, thumbs brushing over sensitive nipples that peak under touch. Each flick of my thumbs sends jolts of electricity straight to my core.
The steam, the heat, and the mirrored surrounding walls form a private world where I can explore these forbidden desires without anybody knowing. My right hand trails down my abdomen, fingers slipping between slick folds. I gasp as they brush over my clit, the sensation electric. The memories ofRemy’s touch fill my mind. I bite my lip, stifling a moan at the vividness of it all.
Fingers pumping into slick folds, my thumb circling my clit, I ride the wave of pleasure. It builds and crests, but just as I’m about to climb over the edge, Remy’s voice invades my thoughts.“You look like a goddess when you come. I could keep you in that state, on the edge forever.”
I freeze, my body taut and trembling, suspended on the precipice of ecstasy. Damn him. Even now, he controls me. I pull my hand back, pressing it against the cool tile wall instead. Gasping for breath, I turn my face into the spray, letting the water wash over me. I need to get him out of my head to clear it of this toxic attraction.
But the memories persist, looped footage playing in my mind. That first night together, the intensity of his gaze as he stripped away my clothes. The rough texture of his skin against mine, the demanding grip of his fingers as they dug into my hips. The staccato rhythm of his breathing as he thrust into me.
With a choked cry, I give in, letting the pleasure consume me. I pump my fingers faster, rougher, banishing all thoughts of control. The orgasm hits me like a tidal wave, pulsing through my veins, obliterating everything but the sensations coursing through my body.
As I slump against the wall, the water pounding against my back, reality rushes in. I’ve let him win. Again. He’s in my head, dictating my actions, even when I’m alone.
Breathless, I spoke up. Maybe to give me strength. “This has to end.”
“End or begin again?”
