Chapter One - Suzy
I arrive with time to spare, shoes pinching just enough to remind me this isn’t my usual orbit.
The marble lobby, all slick lines and polished chrome, reflects me back at myself: a careful composite of nerves and plain prettiness.
I stop near the elevator, check my reflection in the glass, and smooth my hair, mouth practicing that little half smile—soft, apologetic, approachable. I try out the lines I’ve picked:Oh, I’m not used to places like this. You must come here all the time.
The right sort of self-deprecation, gentle enough to be endearing but never slippery. I picture the version of myself he expects and step into her skin, one finger trailing the seam of my coat as if I can sew her shut.
Nikola arrives with barely a sound, his footsteps swallowed by the hush that hangs over everything here. He’s taller than I remember, suit fitted so sharply it almost looks painful, but his smile is easy—genuine in a way that makes my stomach tip.
I let myself glance up, down, once: his hands, broad and sure, a watch that glints when he shakes mine.
He watches my face, or maybe my mouth. The tiny crease at the corner of his lips is satisfaction: he likes what he sees, or he likes knowing I’m a little unsettled.
“Right on time,” he says, voice pitched to reassure. He guides me toward the elevator with a palm at my elbow, a gesture that’s nothing, really, but it feels rehearsed, practiced into habit. I let myself be led.
Inside, he swipes a black card, and the elevator glides upward, silent. He glances at my reflection in the mirrored wall, then back at me, as if he’s checking which version will blink first.
“First time in a place like this?” he asks, not unkind, but I can feel the tease underneath.
I press my lips together, offer a sheepish, sideways smile. “You can tell?”
He laughs, a low rumble that says this is his world, and he’s pleased to share it. “It’s always obvious,” he tells me. “There’s a look people get.”
I let my posture shrink, just a touch. Shoulders rounded, arms close. “I hope it’s not that bad,” I say. My voice is soft, but not fragile. “You’ll have to show me what I’m missing.”
He beams, pleased, ego flaring in the brief pause. The elevator opens directly into the penthouse: a wall of glass, the city stretching out in a scatter of neon and car lights, windows thick enough to hush the world. For a moment, I can almost believe we’re above everything else.
He stands behind me as I step forward, hands tucked into his pockets, but he’s close—close enough that his scent brushes my shoulder. Expensive cologne, something citrus and sharp, threaded with warmth. I let my breath catch, just a little, not quite audible.
“Impressive, right?” He’s nearly boyish, pride curling his words. “The view’s the best part.”
I pretend to hesitate, my fingers finding the seam of my sleeve, tugging. “I can see why you like it.” I turn my head, catch him watching me, his gaze unwavering, hungry for praise. “You have great taste,” I add, gesturing to the room: all minimal lines, concrete softened with leather and deep blue. “It feels… calm. Like you could leave the city behind, up here.”
His shoulders square, pleased. He moves to the bar—glassy, discreet—and pours a whiskey for himself. He gestures, bottle tilted, eyebrows raised.
I shake my head, apologetic. “I’m a lightweight. One drink and you’d be carrying me home.”
He laughs again, softer this time. “Tea, then?”
“That’d be perfect, thank you.” I wrap both hands around the mug he offers, let the steam cloud my face for a beat. My fingers toy with the rim, tracing circles, a fidget that reads as nerves. I watch the city, keeping my eyes wide, childlike, drinking in the glitter and hush.
He moves closer, and I let him. There’s a moment—his hand brushes my back, fingers spanning the hollow at my waist. I stiffen, then let myself relax, spine softening against the subtle pressure. He takes that as encouragement, thumb drifting, lingering.
“So,” he murmurs, head tilted, searching my face for something. “You always this shy, or is it just me?”
I let out a breath that almost counts as a laugh. “Maybe a little of both.”
His knuckles brush mine on the mug. He’s careful, almost gentle, but I feel him testing, reading the shape of my hesitation, looking for a gap. The scent of his cologne is stronger up close, almost dizzying. My eyes flick to his mouth, then away.
He tilts my chin, thumb grazing the angle of my jaw. “You’re not nervous, are you?”
I shake my head, but it’s too quick, too practiced, and he smiles at the lie.
He leans in, lips brushing mine—light at first, a test. I let myself startle, but only a little. His hand is warm on my cheek, anchoring me.
The kiss deepens for a moment, heat blooming behind my ribs, but I pull back before it can spiral, my breath catching. I look away, cheeks hot, eyes sliding down to the floor.
