Why can't I sleep? Not a single damn second. Not while the city hums outside these windows. Not while Peter Smith is plotting in his gilded cage. Not while... her face keeps intruding into my mind. Jennifer. God, Jennifer. Why can't I erase her?
Is it madness to think of her now? I pinch the bridge of my nose. The smell of smoke is thick in the penthouse air, curling around me like a warning I can't escape. I light another cigarette, watch the smoke dance... and think of her hands, trembling the last time I saw her. She looked so fragile... so utterly unaware of how much power she has over me.
Why do you torment me, Jenny? Even now, your memory makes my chest ache. I take a long pull, letting the nicotine burn away my reason for a moment.
The files. The bids. Metro Project. The numbers blur on the pages in front of me. I should focus. I must focus. Peter Smith will claw his way back-he's insidious. He won't stop until he takes everything I've worked for. And yet... I can't stop thinking of her.
Do you know, Jenny, how dangerous this is? How much trouble you're inviting just by existing in my world? You have no idea. I knock a stack of papers off the desk in frustration. Blueprints, contracts... spilling like spilled blood. Why does everything feel like it's crumbling? Why is the city mocking me with its indifferent lights?
I pour another glass of whiskey. Damn it, am I losing my mind? I sip slowly, the burn doing nothing to calm the storm inside. I pace the penthouse, each step echoing in the empty space. You wouldn't understand, Jenny. You wouldn't survive the games I play... the battles I fight. You're too bright, too alive... and yet...
Why does it feel like I need you? No, not need... crave. Crave your presence like a weakness I can't hide. I glance at the scattered papers again. The project-the Metro Project was only the beginning. Peter Smith won't forgive. He will try again. And I will be ready... I must be ready.
My phone buzzes. A distraction. My pulse spikes. I glance at it. Jenny. Her name flashes across the screen. My fingers tighten around the phone. I should ignore it. I will ignore it...
"Meet me tomorrow at 3 PM. Penthouse. Don't be late." I had to type these to her.
I set the phone down and lean back in my chair, staring at the ceiling. Will she come? I feel the sting of wanting her, needing her, and hating myself for it. I knock over the whiskey bottle in anger. Shards clatter across the floor.
She doesn't know... she can't know. Not yet. Not how much control she has over me. Not how much I'll fight, how much I'll do to claim her... even if it's just to defeat Peter, even if it's just for my own sanity.
The penthouse is quiet again. Too quiet. But I can feel her presence in the silence. In my mind. Jenny... will you understand what I'm about to do? Will you understand me at all?
I smoke another cigarette, take another gulp of whiskey. Work, revenge... and her. All tangled together, impossible to separate. I crush the cigarette in the ashtray. Tomorrow... tomorrow I'll see her. Tomorrow... everything changes.