Most men might hate the cold shoulder. But I fucking love itbecause it means I get to be close to her while she’s awake now—something I haven’t had in years.
“I swear to god, Phoenix,” she mutters as we walk through the building, knowing I’m right behind her, practically breathing down her neck.
Phoenix… Jesus. I love the way she says it.
“What?”
“You know, I’d rather you just stayed hidden because at least then you wouldn’t be pissing me off.”
The elevator doors slide open, and we step inside. It’s the first time I’ve been in here. I’ve taken the stairwell every single day since I moved into this building because imagine if I was in the elevator and she stepped in before I was ready. That’s a nightmare scenario for a man like me because I don’t do cornered. Icreatecornered.
“You sought me out, pretty girl.”
“I didn’t know I was seeking a raging psychopath.”
The doors seal us in, and I step into her space. I don’t touch her, but I’m close enough that if she backs up even an inch, she’ll feel the wall at her back and me boxing her in from the front. My defiant girl doesn’t cower or shrink away from me; she just tilts her chin up, those molten eyes blazing with the kind of anger that makes me want to either fuck her or fight her, and honestly, I’m not picky about which comes first.
“Go on,” I taunt, letting the dare sit between us. “Tell me to move.”
She doesn’t, but I knew she wouldn’t.
That pride of hers won’t allow it.
“One day, you’re going to have to stop being so angry with me, baby.” My hand finds her cheek before I can think better of it, my thumb brushing over her soft skin. She doesn’t pull away or slapmy hand. She just stares at me like she’s trying to burn me alive with her eyes alone. “You can keep denying me, but you’re my endgame, Shannen. One way or another, it always ends with us.”
“You’re going to hate me by the end of this.”
“Not possible.”
“If I have to hurt you to make you understand, then I will.”
“Do your worst, baby. It changes nothing.”
The elevator chimes for my floor, and everything in me screams to stay and ignore the opening doors, to keep her trapped here in this tiny box where she can’t run or hide behind distance and silence. But I make myself step back, watching her disappear behind polished steel as the doors slide shut.
Three minutes. That’s all it takes before I’ve got Shannen on my phone, pulling up the feed from the cameras I planted years ago. She drops her bags by the front door, her shoulders slumping forward, and heads straight for the kitchen. Reaching into the cabinet, she grabs a glass and pours herself a drink—vodka, if I had to guess.No ice, no mixer.
She sets the glass on the island, rests her elbows on the marble, and slowly lets her forehead drop to the counter.
I should feel guilty because I know it’s me causing this stress.
But I don’t feel bad, and I’m not sorry.
She just needs a little time.
I throw myself onto the bed, phone still in hand, my eyes glued to the feed. We’re both silent and alone in our separate apartments, forced apart by floors and walls when we could just be done with this.All she has to do is stop fighting it—stop pretending she doesn’t feel this—and I’ll show her that my kind of love doesn’t have limits.
I must've passed out at some point because when I wake up, my phone's dead—the screen black and completely fucking useless. I fumble for my charger, my pulse already spiking because I have no idea what time it is, but the light outside has that gray-violet hue that means I've lost a few hours. The second the screen fires up, I pull up the camera feed, and my stomach drops.
Empty.
Her apartment is fucking empty.
No Shannen on the couch.
No Shannen in the kitchen.
No Shannen in the bedroom.
