Chapter Ten
Ray Chen
I don't cry in the elevator.
That's my first rule.
I wait until the doors close, until the mirrors trap me with my own reflection—eyes red, lips pressed together so hard they hurt. My jaw aches where his fingers were. Not bruised. Just… claimed.
You're mine.
The words echo louder than the hum of the elevator.
When I step out into the lobby, people look away. Every single one of them. Like they saw what happened upstairs. Like it branded me.
Outside, the night air feels thinner. I walk fast, arms wrapped around myself, trying to outrun the feeling crawling up my spine. My phone stays silent. No instructions. No corrections.
That's worse.
At home, I shower until the water runs cold. I scrub my skin like I can erase the way his hand felt at my neck, the certainty in his voice. It doesn't work. When I turn off the water, I still feel watched.
I sit on my bed, towel slipping from my shoulders, and finally let myself think the thought I've been avoiding all day.
This isn't protection.
Protection doesn't humiliate you in front of others.It doesn't isolate you.It doesn't make your heart race with fear and relief at the same time.
And yet—
When my phone buzzes, my body reacts before my mind does.
Unknown: You're home.
It's not a question.
My fingers hover.
Me: Yes.
A pause.
Unknown: Did anyone bother you?
I stare at the screen, throat tight.
You did, I want to say.You are.
Instead:
Me: No.
Three dots appear. Disappear.
Unknown: Good.
I hate how much that word calms me.
I lie back, staring at the ceiling, phone resting on my chest like a weight. I tell myself I'll quit. That tomorrow I'll walk into HR. That I'll tell Kevin everything—how his brother looks at me, touches me, rearranges my life like it's his right.
But then I imagine Sebastian's eyes when he decides I'm a problem.
Cold. Final.
The thought makes my stomach twist.
Another message lights the screen.
Unknown: You were upset today.
Me: You embarrassed me.
This time, there's no immediate response.
Seconds stretch. I picture him reading it. Considering. Deciding how much truth I'm allowed.
Unknown: I corrected a misunderstanding.
Anger flares, sudden and sharp. "I'm not something to be corrected," I whisper aloud, fingers flying.
Me: I'm a person.
The reply comes slower than usual.
Unknown: Exactly.
My chest tightens.
Unknown: People get hurt. What's mine gets protected.
Tears spill again, silent and hot. "This isn't love," I whisper, though he can't hear me.
My phone buzzes.
Unknown: I didn't say it was.
I clutch the phone to my chest, shaking.
That's when it hits me—the most terrifying realization yet.
He isn't pretending this is romantic.He isn't lying to me.
He's being honest.
And somehow, that makes it harder to leave.
I curl onto my side, exhaustion dragging me under. As sleep creeps in, one thought repeats itself like a broken prayer:
I can fix him.I just have to try harder.
My phone buzzes one last time before sleep takes me.
Unknown: Rest. Tomorrow will be easier.
I close my eyes.
I don't believe him.
But I still stay.