Living in the penthouse was like living inside a diamond. It was beautiful, cold, and hard enough to cut you if you leaned too heavily against the walls.
For three weeks, I played a part. Every morning, I woke up in Julian's massive bed, scrubbed the phantom feeling of his hands off my skin, and put on my thrift-store jeans and worn shoes. I'd take the elevator down, walk three blocks to avoid the doorman's prying eyes, and catch a bus back to the edge of town to work my shift at the diner.
Martha was happy. She thought the "negotiation" had been a stroke of genius. She didn't notice the way I flinched when a male customer got too close, or how I spent my breaks staring at my reflection in the chrome of the milkshake machine, wondering who the hell was looking back.
I was a ghost. To Martha, I was the niece who saved the day. To the city, I was the girl who lived forty floors up. And to Silas? To Silas, I was nothing at all. I hadn't seen him since the blonde answered his door.
Then the blizzard hit. A real, bone-cracking winter storm that turned the city white and the ridge impassable.
I was back in the penthouse, wrapped in a silk robe that cost five grand, staring out at the swirling snow. I had a glass of Julian's expensive scotch in my hand. It tasted like wood and fire, better than the cheap shit, but it still didn't drown out the silence.
The elevator chimed.
My heart didn't just jump; it tried to claw its way out of my throat. Julian wasn't supposed to be back for another ten days.
The doors slid open, and there he was. He looked haggard. His expensive wool coat was dusted with snow, and his face was pale, the bruise I'd given him faded to a faint, yellowish shadow. He dropped his briefcase, his eyes scanning the room until they landed on me.
He froze. He looked genuinely shocked to see me standing there.
"You stayed," he breathed. His voice was raw, stripped of that oily businessman polish.
"Don't get your dick hard over it, Julian," I snapped, my voice sounding crude against the elegant backdrop of the room. I took a slow sip of the scotch, leaning against the marble counter. "The heating at my apartment is shit, and you have better booze. It's a transaction. Nothing more."
Julian walked toward me, shedding his coat as he moved. He didn't look like the victor. He looked like a man who had spent a month haunted by what he'd done. "I thought... after I left... I thought you'd burn the place down and run back to the ridge."
"Silas is busy with a blonde who looks like she eats kale for breakfast and regrets for dinner," I said, my words sharp and bitter. "And Martha needs the diner. You knew exactly what you were doing when you left those keys, you manipulative prick."
Julian stopped a few feet away. He reached out as if to touch me, then pulled back, his hand trembling. "I know what I did, Alina. I haven't slept a full night since London. I see your face every time I close my eyes. The way you looked at me... before you went under."
"Good," I spat. "I hope it keeps you up until your hair turns gray. You drugged me, Julian. You took the only thing I had left that was mine. You're a rapist with a nice tie."
Julian flinched as if I'd slapped him again. "I know. And I'll spend every day of the rest of my life trying to make it up to you."
"You can't," I said. But even as I said it, the crushing weight of the winter hit me. The snow was piling up outside. The diner was empty. Silas was gone. In this entire, freezing world, the only person who was looking at me, the only person who knew the mess I really was, was the man who had broken me.
It was a sick, twisted irony. I hated him with every fiber of my being, but I was standing in his light because the alternative was freezing to death in the dark. It was almost as if I wanted to be here.
Julian saw the crack in my armor. He saw the way my hand shook as I held the glass. He stepped closer, his voice dropping to a low, desperate whisper. "You're alone, Alina. We're both alone. Silas chose his 'peace.' But I chose you. Even if I did it in the worst way possible... I chose you."
"You trapped me," I corrected, but I didn't move away as he reached out and finally touched my cheek. His fingers were cold from the snow, but his eyes were burning.
"Then let's be trapped together," he whispered.
I looked at him, this monster who had bought my life, and felt a wave of terrifying, exhausted defeat. My language was still crude, my witty barbs still ready, but the fire was burning low.
"I still hate you," I whispered, even as I let him pull me into his arms.
"I know," Julian said, burying his face in my neck. "I can live with that. As long as you're here."
Outside, the storm roared, burying the city in ice. And inside the glass diamond, the nightmare and the monster settled into a cold, uneasy peace, waiting for the thaw that might never come.