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Lena

H e doesn’t ask. He just stands there, one hand in his pocket, like the night is waiting on me.

“We’ll go to my room,” he says. “It’s more private there.”

It’s phrased like logistics. A follow-up to dinner. But the subtext is louder than the words.

He turns and starts walking.

And I follow.

Not because I’m flattered. Not because I’m curious. But because I want to know what it feels like to walk into something you already know is a mistake—and do it anyway.

The hallway is long. Quiet. Carpeted in the kind of way that eats the sound of retreat. His room is exactly what I expect: top floor, corner suite, designed to look expensive without being memorable.

He opens the door, stepping aside to let me pass.

I enter the room, and he follows me in, closing the door behind him.

He doesn’t speak. Doesn’t touch me. Just shrugs out of the performance of dinner like it was never the point.

I don’t sit. I stand there in this strange moment of silence, waiting, until I finally break it—like a kid who’s been told not to touch the cake but can’t stop poking it.

“I assume this is the part where you give me the illusion of choice.”

“No.” He turns toward me. “I don’t believe in illusions.”

He says it calmly, like he’s bored with the idea that I might need to be convinced. That I might want to be chased.

“What do you want, then?”

“You,” he says.

Not romantically. Not breathlessly. Just like it’s the next logical step on a checklist he’s already halfway through.

“For the night,” he adds. “No confusion. No complications.”

I lean against the desk. “That’s a big promise.”

He doesn’t smile. “I don’t make promises. Not if I can help it.”

I look at him, this man who moves through the world like gravity works differently for him. Like consequences are things other people have to survive.

The room is quiet. I could still leave. I know that. And he knows I know.

But I don’t.

Instead, I step out of my heels. Not seductively. Not slowly. Just enough to level the playing field.

“This isn’t going to change anything. One way or the other,” he says.

“I didn’t think it was.”

He watches me a second too long. “You don’t look surprised.”

“I’ve had a weird couple of weeks.”

He almost smiles. Almost. “You could say no.”

I could. I could say it a hundred different ways. I could grab my bag, thank him for dinner, and walk right back to my very reasonable hotel room with its neutral carpet and unthreatening soap. I could sleep, wake up, and pretend this never almost happened.

Instead, I say, “What makes you think I want to?”

He steps closer. Doesn’t touch me. Just invades the air I’m breathing like he owns the oxygen. “I don’t.”

His voice is casual. Matter-of-fact. Like he’s confirming tomorrow’s forecast. Sunny with a zero percent chance of regret.

I cross the room slowly, like it’s going to bite.

Now I’m standing in front of the bed like I’m trying to convince myself this isn’t a terrible idea. He tosses his room key on the console like it’s a receipt for something I’ve already bought. I guess it is.

And maybe that’s what does it. I speak before he can.

“You don’t have to say anything. I’m not confused about what this is.”

He raises an eyebrow.

“I just need to get over someone,” I say, unclasping my watch. “That’s all. You’re a controlled environment.”

His bottom lip juts out. “That’s the first time anyone’s called me that.”

I shrug. “You seemed like the safest bad idea I could find.”

“That might be the most honest thing anyone’s said to me all week.”

“Really? You seem like the kind of man who doesn’t call the next day. Or think about it after.”

He doesn’t confirm or deny. Just watches.

“I married my college boyfriend,” I add. “We were together for almost ten years. He knew everything—what I liked, what I didn’t. He didn’t have to ask.”

Ellis doesn’t react, not visibly.

“So this?” I gesture between us. “It’s a reset button. Not romance. Not revenge. Just…practice.”

He cocks his head, like he’s curious now. Not turned on— interested.

“You want to see if you can do this,” he says. “Without feeling anything.”

“Exactly.”

“And if you can’t?”

I hold his gaze, steady. “Then I’ll know.”