Chapter Five - Pricilla

I storm into my apartment, slamming the door behind me with enough force that the walls vibrate. My hands are shaking, but I don't know if it's from the cold or the overwhelming frustration clawing at me. Anton Rosenthal. The name tastes like ash in my mouth. The way he looked at me—like I was something to claim, to break.

I can still feel his presence lingering in the air, thick and suffocating. The audacity of the man. Who the hell does he think he is? He's my enemy. He's supposed to be my rival, not some goddamn temptation I'm trying desperately to ignore.

I close my eyes, leaning against the door, trying to catch my breath. The sound of my heartbeat is loud in my ears, frantic, uneven. What the hell is wrong with me? I barely even know him, and yet, his gaze burned through me like I was something he could own. And God help me, I let him.

I take a deep breath and straighten up, forcing myself to walk across the room. I can't let him get to me. I can't let anyone get to me. Especially not him.

I go straight to the kitchen, reaching for the bottle of wine I keep on the counter. My hands are still trembling, but I pour myself a glass anyway. I need something to help drown the thoughts that keep circling in my mind. I take a sip, feeling the warmth spread through me, but it doesn't help. It doesn't stop the way his words keep replaying in my head. "I think you want me to."

The nerve of him. To say something like that. But even worse is that I didn't completely hate it. I hated the way it made me feel—exposed, vulnerable, like I was a puppet in his hands—but I couldn't deny the twisted thrill it stirred inside me. The tension between us had been palpable, like a live wire, and it made me feel things I hadn't felt in years. But that's the last thing I need. I need control. I need to remember who the hell I am.

I turn away from the counter, trying to focus on something else, anything else, but the thoughts of him creep back in. I can still see his face—dark eyes, like a storm cloud ready to break. He's so arrogant, so damn sure of himself, it makes me sick. He thinks he can walk into my life, make his presence known, and I'll just… fall in line. Like I'm some toy he can break and bend to his will.

No. I won't let him.

I walk to the window and glance outside, trying to ground myself. The city below looks so small from up here, like a living, breathing thing. But even that doesn't help. The oppressive silence of my apartment, the empty space, is only making things worse. The quiet is too loud. It makes me think of him, of how close we were, of how much I wanted to slap him in the face and kiss him all at once.

God, what is wrong with me?

I rub my eyes, trying to shake off the intrusive thoughts. It's infuriating. He's my enemy, not some… whatever this is. There's no room for anything else between us. I won't let him worm his way in.

But then, I can't ignore the fact that I'm still thinking about him. I can't ignore the fact that when I close my eyes, I can feel the weight of his gaze on me, that same smoldering intensity that made every nerve in my body light up with tension.

I grab my phone, hoping to distract myself. But the screen only shows a text from my father, another message reminding me of how disappointing I am, how unworthy I am. I roll my eyes and throw the phone back on the counter. At least that's one thing I can control—ignoring his messages.

I walk back to the desk and sit down, my fingers hovering over the laptop keys. But the blinking cursor feels like it's mocking me. Nothing feels real right now. Not the work on my screen, not the wine in my hand. Not even the apartment around me.

I could throw myself into work, bury myself in it, pretend like Anton doesn't haunt every corner of my mind. But I know that's just another form of denial. Because no matter how much I hate him, no matter how much I want to wipe that smug look off his face, I can't shake the way he makes me feel. It's a slow burn, a dangerous desire I have no intention of acting on.

I stand up abruptly, the chair scraping against the floor. I need to move, to do something to escape this tension. I can't keep doing this. I'm not some lovesick teenager, caught up in some whirlwind attraction. I won't let him have that kind of power over me.

But the more I try to convince myself of that, the more the truth sinks in. He already does.

I exhale sharply, my breath catching in my throat as the reality of it all hits me. He's already got a hold on me, and it makes my skin crawl. It's not just that he's attractive—though, damn, he's more than that. It's the way he challenges me, the way he looks at me like he knows exactly what I'm thinking, like he can see right through the walls I've spent years building around myself. It infuriates me, more than anything else. How dare he make me feel like this?

I walk over to the door of my apartment and yank it open, stepping out into the hallway. I don't know what I'm looking for. Maybe some peace of mind, or just a way to outrun this suffocating feeling. Maybe I need to remind myself that I don't need anyone, not even him.

The cold air hits me like a slap to the face as I step out onto the street. I don't even bother with a jacket—just the cold, the night, and my thoughts swirling together in an uncomfortable knot. The streets are mostly quiet, but the sounds of the city hum in the distance. It's familiar. It's mine.

I walk without purpose, letting my feet guide me, trying to clear my mind. But every step I take seems to bring me closer to him. To the way he made me feel—like I was a puppet on a string, too damn close to the fire.

I stop at a corner, leaning against the brick of a nearby building as I stare out at the passing cars. There's a brief moment of clarity, a moment where I almost convince myself that it's just a phase. This attraction, this desire—it's just some stupid reaction. A blip on the radar. Nothing I can't control.

But the moment I think that, my mind drifts back to the way he looked at me, like he could taste every inch of my frustration. Like he was daring me to make the first move, daring me to fall into the trap he's clearly set for me. The bastard.

I rub my hand across my forehead, trying to push the thought away. I'm not some weak woman who's going to fall for the first man who looks at her. Not even for him. Especially not for him.

But there's something in the way he makes me feel—something that doesn't make sense. He's cold. Detached. And yet, every word he spoke tonight felt like a challenge, like he was testing my limits. Pushing my buttons just enough to make me second-guess everything I thought I knew about myself.

I shake my head, trying to clear the fog in my mind. This isn't going anywhere good. I need to focus. I need to remember who I am, what I've worked for. I'm not going to let some dangerous, arrogant man come in and ruin everything I've built.

I glance around, my eyes scanning the shadows of the alleyway ahead. No one in sight. It's just me, the cold night, and the gnawing feeling in my chest that tells me I'm lying to myself.

I'm not sure how much longer I can keep up this charade. The desire is still there, simmering beneath the surface, and no matter how many times I try to shove it down, it keeps coming back. Anton's presence lingers in my mind, as much as I try to erase it.

I suck in a breath, straightening up from the wall, and start walking again. One foot in front of the other. I won't let him control me. I won't let anyone control me.

And yet… as I walk back toward the apartment, the pull toward him is stronger than it's ever been. It's like a magnetic force, too powerful to ignore.

But that's exactly what I'll do. Ignore it. Because if I don't, he wins.

And that's something I'm not willing to let happen. Not now. Not ever.

By the time I reach the entrance of my building, the cool air no longer feels like an ally. It feels like a reminder—of everything I'm trying to run from, of the twisted mess that is my life, and of the man whose name still lingers on my lips like an unfinished sentence.

I push open the door, stepping back into the warmth of the building, but it doesn't bring me any comfort. My mind races with thoughts of Anton, and I can't shake the image of his eyes—cold, calculating, yet there's a flicker there. A spark. Something I'm not sure I should acknowledge, but it's impossible to ignore.

I force myself to focus on the hallway, on putting one foot in front of the other as I ascend the stairs to my floor. The familiar creak of the stairs beneath my feet is a small comfort, something solid in a world that feels less and less predictable. My hands grip the railing as I climb, each step heavy, my pulse quickening with every passing second.

I unlock the door to my apartment and step inside, shutting it behind me with a soft click. I lean against the door for a moment, letting the quiet of the room settle over me, but it doesn't ease the tension in my shoulders. It doesn't stop the constant churn of desire that still swirls inside me.

I take a deep breath, trying to ground myself, but the thought of Anton won't leave me. I want to forget him, to push him out of my head, but it's like trying to ignore a fire that keeps growing, even when you douse it with water.

I move to the window, gazing out at the city skyline. The lights of the city reflect in the glass, their faint glow a reminder of how alone I am in this sprawling urban jungle. How alone I've always been.

I'm not the kind of woman who falls for games. I'm not the kind who lets her emotions get in the way of her goals.

And yet, Anton's presence lingers in the back of my mind, like a shadow that refuses to leave.

I exhale, frustrated with myself. The pull toward him is almost suffocating, but I refuse to let it control me. I won't give him that satisfaction. I won't be one of his pawns.

But then again, what does it say about me that I'm even thinking about him this much? That I can't seem to escape the way he makes me feel, the way his words haunt me long after he's gone?

I close my eyes, trying to silence the voices in my head. There's no time for this. No time to think about him, or what he could mean in my life. I've worked too hard to get where I am, and I won't let anyone—or anything—distract me now.

I turn away from the window, shaking my head.

This ends tonight.

I won't let Anton Rosenthal have any more of my thoughts.

And yet, as I walk through my apartment, heading for the bedroom, the very idea of cutting him out feels impossible. The more I try to distance myself from him, the more I realize I'm only fooling myself.

No matter how much I hate him, no matter how much I want to resist… I'm already too deep. And I can't stop it.

I stop just before I enter my room, standing in the doorway as I look back toward the living area. My breath comes in shallow gasps, and I curse under my breath. This isn't me. This... obsession, this... craving for something I can't quite put my finger on—it's not something I allow.

But Anton, damn him, makes everything complicated. It's like he's a magnet, drawing me in even when I know I should be running in the other direction.

I clench my fists at my sides, silently willing myself to calm down. There's a battle raging inside of me, the desire to break free from his grip—his presence—colliding with the undeniable attraction I feel every time I even think of him.

His words from earlier still echo in my head. The things he said, the way he looked at me. There was something in his gaze, something raw and untamed. But I can't let myself care. I can't.

I walk into my bedroom, stripping off my clothes in a frenzy, as if the faster I move, the less time I'll have to think about Anton. I drop everything into a pile on the floor and stand there for a moment, just breathing, my reflection staring back at me from the mirror.

But even in the silence of my own space, I can still feel the heat of his presence. It's like he's everywhere, lingering in the air, taunting me.

I turn my back to the mirror, running a hand through my hair as I sit down on the edge of my bed. I close my eyes, trying to block everything out, but that's when it hits me—the familiar ache, deep and undeniable. The one I refuse to admit.

I exhale, trying to push it away. I shouldn't be feeling this. I can't afford to.

But Anton has a way of getting under my skin. His every word, his every glance—it cuts through me like a razor. It ignites something I can't control, and as much as I want to shove it down, to forget it... I can't.

I run my hands over my face, a mixture of frustration and desire pooling in my chest. Why does it have to be like this? Why does he have to make everything so damn difficult?

I stand up and move to the window, pulling back the curtains to look out at the city below. The lights twinkle like stars, so far away, and I find myself wondering how far I really am from the truth. How much longer can I keep pretending like I'm not drawn to him, like I don't want to know everything about him?

The doorbell rings, cutting through my thoughts like a blade. I freeze, startled, my heart thumping loudly in my chest. Who the hell could it be at this hour?

I move cautiously toward the door, my pulse quickening with each step. My hand hesitates over the doorknob for a moment before I pull it open, revealing nothing but the empty hallway.

But there's something there—a small, carefully folded piece of paper, resting on the ground by the threshold. I kneel down to pick it up, the weight of it somehow heavier than expected.

Unfolding the paper, I read the words scrawled across it:

"I don't think we're done yet, Princess."

My stomach drops. The handwriting is unmistakable. Anton.

I stare at the note for a long moment, my fingers curling around the paper as a mix of anger and something darker floods my veins. This is a declaration—he's making it clear that he's not done with me. He's not done, and neither am I.

I close my eyes, steadying my breath as I try to push away the dizzying swirl of emotions threatening to consume me. I rip the paper in half and throw it on the floor, but the damage is done.

He has me exactly where he wants me. And for once, I can't deny that I might want to stay.