by Vivian Ward
I’d hate to see what her utilities are for her small apartment. There’s no way those rickety windows provide any energy efficiency. The single-pane glass leaves all of the inside air to escape outdoors and vice versa. If the windows are any indication of how well they maintain their buildings, I’d venture to say that they’ve probably never blown fresh insulation inside of the walls.
As a business man, and owner of commercial rental properties, that is not how you take care of your clients. Their turnover rate is probably horrendous, just like the apartments.
Walking through her apartment, I couldn’t help but notice the poor condition of the walls, ceiling, and floor. I would never expect one of our tenants to live in a building like this.
And this just shows the difference between Ally and the gold diggers. She doesn’t need marble floors and quartz countertops. Ally might be stubborn, but she is simple.
Simple is what I need.
I’ve tried everything I can think of to get her back in my life but all of my attempts have failed. I’m giving her one last chance to come willingly before I make a decision for her, which I’m fully prepared to do.
We have dinner reservations at The Butterfly and a few days ago, she should’ve received a beautiful gown that I picked for her myself. The design was elegant, yet simple; just like her. I paid attention to her taste in clothing. There wasn’t a day that went by that I didn’t note the simplicity of her dress each time I saw her, but with the way her clothes hang on her delectable curves, there’s no need for flashy design. I can’t wait to see her in the gown that I chose for her.
It’s a perfect combination of her unembellished style with my extravagant spending. The dress is plain, yet there are diamonds. There’s smooth velvet, yet the intricate lace adds texture. It’s dark just like me but the flashy diamonds beam the reflective light that she casts on me. She will look like a perfect little doll in this dress, and she will be all mine.
I arrived at the restaurant twenty minutes ago. Casually sipping the complimentary cocktail the staff provided me, my eyes are trained on the door, waiting for Ally’s arrival. Checking my watch, she should be here any minute so I summon the barkeep and ask for a bottle of Moscato—her favorite. The same brand she dumped down her sink.
As I sit and wait, I impatiently check my phone. It’s only five till and I know I shouldn’t worry just yet, but I do. Ally’s always on time. For some reason, I half-way expect her to text instead of showing up but since nothing is coming through on my phone, I assume she will meet me. She might be bold by throwing out gifts and ignoring messages but I can’t imagine her standing me up at a restaurant. Her heart is too big for that and her guilt would eat her alive.
Not wanting to open the wine without her, I ask the barkeep for another drink as I polish off the last of the liquid amber and let it warm my throat.
“Here you go, Mr. Kaswell,” he says, sliding me another glass. “This one is on the house, too.”
Raising my glass, I nod and drink to that before I pull out my phone to check for any missed calls or messages. There’s nothing there and it’s two minutes till, but there are no signs of Ally.
Fidgeting with my cufflinks, I try to imagine her as she scurries inside the building and arrives breathless, her hair somewhat disheveled as it sweeps her barely pink cheeks from making the run in her velvet and lace heels that I sent with her matching gown.
At 8:00 PM, I check my phone and stare at it, waiting for something—anything—to come through. It doesn’t matter if it’s an email, a news alert, or a text message. I don’t want her to catch me staring at the doors when she walks through them. I’d look desperate if she caught me sitting here, waiting for her to show up, so I try my best to look busy and pretend to be engrossed with the blank screen that I’m staring at.
The Butterfly only allows a max of two reservations per hour, and I’m starting to feel the wandering eyes of the staff as they quietly whisper about me being alone. I’m the only one in the restaurant and am beginning to get pissed off. Surely, she wouldn’t be foolish enough to walk away from me and stand me up.
I hope for her sake, she has more sense than that.
Three minutes later, the door opens but it’s a couple, apologizing profusely for being late for their dinner reservation. The maître d' assures them that they are fine and shows them to a table on the opposite side of the restaurant.
As the couple opens their menus, they each take note of me sitting at the bar alone. The woman smirks as the man makes a low, condescending remark about me. My blood boils and I want to walk over and punch him in the face because I know Ally will show up at any moment. She’s just running late. I know she is. There’s no way she’d leave me sitting here like this. For all I know, she probably got engulfed in her work and lost track of time. She’ll be here any minute.
It’s nearly ten after when the door opens again. Rising out of my seat, I smile and stash my phone in my pocket until shock wipes the smile right off of my face.
Chapter 3
Ally
To go or not to go, that is the question.
I’ve been asking myself all day if I’d go to dinner with Colton tonight. Hell, it’s the question of the week that’s been plaguing my mind.
At first, I just blew off the dinner reservations that arrived in the mail but then he had that gorgeous dress sent to me. I’d be lying if I said I hadn’t tried it on three or four times.
It’s just so beautiful, and I didn’t think it would fit but it did. Actually, it fits like a glove. Like Cinderella and her matching shoe, only except mine is a dress with matching heels.
And when I slipped into the rich fabric and looked in the mirror, I felt like a princess. All that I needed was a crown to complete my look.
Of course, I felt like an idiot wearing something so extravagant, so I took it off and put it in the back of my closet. Just like I try to file all of my memories of him—of us—to the back of my mind.
All day at work, I tried to think of any reason I could to work late tonight but aside from the story I’ve been working on, there wasn’t much else to do. I think I’ve got Colton’s story perfected, and plan on pitching the idea to Gretta on Monday. She’ll have to run it by her boss, Greg, but I think they’re going to love it. I’ve never spent this much time on researching, writing and editing something. With my whole career depending on it, I need it to be perfect.
But as the clock wound down, I dreaded leaving the comfort of my desk where I’ve spent 50-60 per week for the last four weeks before I made my way across town to my apartment.
I’m not trying to sound paranoid, but I don’t feel safe in my apartment. There’s no reason behind it, but staying here suddenly makes me feel uncomfortable. I don’t believe in ghosts but I feel like I’m being watched, which is silly because I live on the second story. It’s not like a peeping Tom could just come take a peek through my windows, but for some reason, I feel violated in my own home.
Shuffling through the mail, I’m relieved to see there’s nothing from Colton today and toss a small stack of ad inserts on the counter as I slide my purse from around my neck and hang it with my thin jacket on the flimsy coat rack that I bought at Target. One of these days, when I buy a home, I’m going to take my ass to the hardware store and install a real rack on my wall but for now, this will do.
Tired from a long day of work, I opt for a steaming hot bubble bath instead of a shower as I toy with the idea of meeting Colton tonight.
What harm could it do? I ask myself as I take a towel and wash cloth from the linen closet.
It’s just dinner.
But is it? Who goes to “just dinner” wearing a diamond and lace dress? Someone who goes with Colton Kaswell, that’s who.
And he did send me gifts for over a month straight. Chocolates, wine, my favorite autographed book, and so much more. He even tried texting me, and I shot him down at every attempt. I feel like a bitch for ignoring him, but he deserves it, especially after see
ing him with that girl at the club.
He always gets his way and it’s about time that he sees that he can’t keep living like that. It’s also time that I put my foot down for once in my life. I’ve always done what I was expected of me to please others, but not this time. It was hard, but I managed even though I kept doubting myself the entire time. I’m sure it was difficult for him to chase after me since he’s probably never chased after anyone in his life before, but does that mean I owe him a dinner date?
While my water is running, I pop the cork out of my wine bottle and watch the sparkling bubbles rush to the top as I pour myself a healthy glass. I probably shouldn’t drink but it’ll do one of two things: help me not care about the dinner date, or calm my nerves should I decide to go.
I’m not sure going is the right thing to do, though. Nothing good could come of it. He’s just going to try to trap me in his web, and I don’t know if I’m strong enough to get out of it. I’ve been fighting him off for so long now that I’m beginning to grow wary of it.
Part of me wants to cave in and go have dinner with him, but the other part says to stay strong. I have to stand up to him. Not only for myself, but for all of the other women who might walk into his life.
Settling into the tub, I welcome the burning pain that comes with hot water that’s instantly turning my skin red with each inch that I submerge myself. To drown out my thoughts, I take a few sips of the cold Moscato and try to think of work but it does no good. For almost 240 hours, I’ve done nothing but write about Colton Kaswell as I carefully remembered every detail that I either committed to memory or wrote down in my journal.
As I soak in the bath, my scarlet skin is on fire but I accept it as punishment for not being stronger. Why can’t I ever just make up my mind? Why am I toying with the idea of going to this dinner?
After scrubbing off a day’s worth of work from my body, I get out and wrap myself in a fluffy white towel while using my free hand to wipe the steam from the mirror. I see a talented and smart journalist staring back at me, but all I can think of is how weak I am when it comes to Colton. I want to run into my closet and put on that black dress, pretending I’m Cinderella, even if just for one night but that’s when I tell myself to stop it.
“Stop it!” I yell at my reflection. “Just stop it!”
I slip into my pajamas and pour myself another healthy glass of wine as I note the time. It’s only 7 PM. Dinner is in one hour. Gulping down my glass of Moscato, I pour myself a third glass, finishing off the bottle.
Curling into a ball on the couch, I cover myself with a blanket and open a second bottle of wine. I’m half-way through it when I see that it’s almost 9:00. I’ve missed my dinner date with him, but I don’t care. My hands and nose feel fuzzy, and my brain is foggy.
It’s better this way, I tell myself.
Yes, it’s better that I didn’t go see him. It’s safer to keep my distance from him. Colton’s dangerous storm has passed me this time, but who knows how long before his menacing storm rolls in again, and I’m left to take the brunt of it whether I like it or not.
Tired and a bit drunk, my haziness turns into a blur where I begin drift off to sleep while the TV makes background noise that I couldn’t care less about. It’s nearly 10 PM, and by the time tomorrow comes, I’m sure Colton will either write me off or start working on his next plan of action in an attempt to win me over.
During the middle of the night, I think I hear something in my apartment. Disoriented and confused, my eyelids slowly open and I blink, trying to bring my eyes into focus. I swear there’s a man standing at the end of my couch but there’s too much alcohol in my system to fully understand the danger I’m about to be in.
Chapter 4
Colton
I didn’t want to do it. I didn’t want to break into her apartment. I didn’t want to kidnap her, but she left me no choice.
She made me do it.
Not having her was driving me insane. Literally. The longer I went without her, the more my body began to withdraw. She’s like a drug and I have to have her.
Sitting in the restaurant while I waited for her, I thought long and hard about what I’d do when she didn’t show up. This is the only answer. She will be mine.
She has to be mine.
I already love her. I fell in love with her the night that I met her when she didn’t know who I was. She treated me differently, and I liked it. Even once she figured out who I was, she still treated me different. She didn’t throw herself at me like the others. Instead, she tried to keep her distance—even when she was working in my club. She tried to stay away, but I wouldn’t let her. I won’t let her.
I want to control her. I want to own her. I want to worship her.
I want to use her body. I need to consume her. Taste her. Take everything she’s got.
But I can also build her up and give her anything and everything she’d ever need or want. This isn’t a one-sided relationship. I will treat her like the princess she is. As much as I want to do bad, horrible things to her, I want to love her, too. I want to take care of her and provide for her.
When I lost Mel, my whole world ended and I thought that I’d never get it back but when I met Ally, everything came back. Her light hit me like a bus. My darkness wanted to absorb all of her brightness, and steal it like a thief in the night.
Seeing her in a drunken stupor as I stood over her inside her apartment infuriated me. How could she be so careless in such an unsecured building? Anyone could’ve gotten inside her apartment and hurt her.
And I’d kill them, without a second thought.
I watched her sleep for a while before I started rousing her awake. She wasn’t resting well as she tossed and turned on the couch, so I took it upon myself to stroke her hair which seemed to provide her a bit of comfort. Leaning over her, I watched her chest rise and fall with each breath she took which made my cock completely hard as I thought about how I’d love to take her right then and there.
But fucking drunk chicks has never been my thing. I want full consent. I want to know that they handed me the power to control them and use them. The power exchange is what I yearn for.
Hoisting her over my shoulder, I grab the thin blanket from the couch and listen to her incoherent babble as I carry her out to my car. Once I’ve buckled her in and covered her up, I walk around the car and hop in beside her. Unconscious again, her head rests against my shoulder as I drive down the highway, smelling her nauseating drunkenness the entire time.
I know she’ll be pissed when she wakes up, but that’s too bad. She had the choice to come willingly but she didn’t take it. I was close to ending my life, and the only other time that things got to that point was when I lost Mel. I couldn’t handle living without her, so the only way was to live without existing. If it weren’t for my maid finding me as I gagged on my own vomit, I probably would’ve died. At times, I’ve often wish I would’ve just died.
Being dead is better than living without ever feeling. What good is life if you can’t feel anything? What good is it to walk around on auto-pilot as you fuck random girls? Most of which were complete strangers. I couldn’t begin to tell you what most of their names were. Sure, it gives you a short-term challenge, an insignificant rush, but for a long time, it’s been the only thing that makes me feel alive. I needed tiny challenges. I needed something to keep me going.
Until I met Ally. The minute she came into my life, I felt an electrical charge. Every neuron in my body fired at once, sending tingles and chills through my body. Yes, my cock might have sprung to life, but she woke my mind from a slumber that was near impossible to wake from. My heart beat to her drum and strengthened my pulse. I feel like a selfish bastard for kidnapping her and taking what she’s already given me without even knowing it, but I refuse to let her go.
Linda, my housekeeper, has been given strict instructions that she is to stay away from any room in the hallway that leads to my bedroom. I told her that I have a guest who will be st
aying with me and that my guest wishes not to be disturbed.
When we arrive at my mansion, I carry her to the elevator and press the button to take her upstairs. Linda has already gone home for the evening and won’t be back until morning. Typically, she cooks dinner and has it waiting unless I tell her otherwise. She was fully aware of my dinner plans this evening; the dinner plans that Ally ruined.
I admire her reflection that bounces off the stainless steel walls. Her long, brown hair drapes over the crook of my arm and her face is so relaxed, so peaceful. Her limp body dangles in my arms and the sight of it makes my cock jerk, but there’s nothing I can do about it tonight; not in her condition.
Lying her on the bed, she mumbles something about her room—I presume the one in her apartment—and curls into a fetal position as I cover her up. Watching her from her bedside, I can’t help but imagine how she will behave once she wakes up and realizes that she’s no longer in her own home. Sucking in deep breaths, she begins snoring as she falls into a tranquil slumber.
Satisfied that she’ll be out for the night, I quietly pad my way across the room and lock the door from the outside before I head to my room. I try to go to sleep so I can get a good nights rest so that I wake before her, but I’m sure I’ll hear her once she wakes up which is why I texted Linda and gave her tomorrow off.
It’s not unusual for me to text her at random, asking her not to come in. I’ve done it plenty of times in the past when I’ve brought home multiple girls so she’ll assume I’m here having the time of my life instead of taking care of my captive.
As I undress for bed, I think about how close she is and how she will soon be mine. I haven’t forgotten the way she tastes or feels. I’ve replayed the time we were together in my office so many times.