11. Chapter Eleven Nathan

Chapter Eleven: Nathan

T he feelings didn't relent as I hauled her up the stairs, opened the door, tossed her away from me like trash.

Because I knew she wasn't trash.

She was the woman I loved, even after all her lies.

I stood there, the heaviness of the moment wrapping around us like a thick fog. I could see it in Abby's eyes, the pleading, the vulnerability that she had never shown before. It gnawed at me, this urge to send her packing, to rid myself of her deceit and the chaos she brought into my world.

But damn it, there was something about seeing her like this, so raw and exposed, that tethered me to the spot. My heart, a traitor to my resolve, thumped an erratic rhythm against my ribcage as the space between us seemed to charge with electricity.

I leaned down, compelled by a force I couldn't name, and pressed my lips to hers.

The kiss wasn't tender; it was brutal, bruising, a show of force. Her tears mingled with the taste of my own cum on her cheeks, her chin, a stark reminder of the line we had crossed.

It twisted my gut, this cocktail of desire and revulsion.

I hated myself for wanting her, for relishing in the power I had when she looked up at me with those tear-stained eyes.

She found her way through every crack in my armor.

I snarled and pushed myself away, stalking toward the counter.

"Clean yourself up," I ordered, my voice barely above a growl as I snatched a rag from the counter and tossed it at her. Every fiber in my being screamed that she was more than this mess, more than just a hole to be used.

And I hated myself for not seeing her as just that.

The fact that she didn't flinch or spit back a retort but instead took the rag and began wiping her face clean only twisted the knife of guilt deeper into my gut. There was no satisfaction in this, none at all.

"Be reasonable, Nathan," she said quietly, without a hint of anger. Her eyes didn't meet mine as she spoke, focused on removing the evidence of our reckless encounter. "I could've turned you over to the FBI today. But look around, there's no one breaking down your door."

"Reasonable?" I scoffed, bitterness seeping through every syllable. "You think after what you've done, I'm going to believe you're protecting me? That's absurd, Abby. I won't be played for a fool again."

But as she stood there, the rag hanging limply from her hand, something flickered behind those eyes—a spark of genuine fear, perhaps, or maybe it was defiance. It was clear she wasn't giving up, not yet. And despite my hardened stance, part of me dreaded the thought of what lengths she would go to prove herself again.

"Fine," she finally said, her voice low, a hard edge sharpening each word. She dropped the rag onto the counter, her gaze finally lifting to lock with mine. "Believe what you want, Nathan. But I'm not your enemy."

Her voice was a challenge, her stance defiant. And just like that, she closed the distance between us with a few purposeful strides. Her palm found its way onto my chest, warm and steady. She tilted her head up, eyes searching mine as if looking for an anchor in a stormy sea.

"Let me make it up to you," Abby whispered, her breath grazing my skin, sending an involuntary shiver through me despite my resolve.

Instinctively, I pushed her away, creating a chasm of space that felt both necessary and unbearable. "You can't," I said, my voice harsher than I intended. "I'm not some mark you can con, Abby. I'm not going to be played that easily."

She reeled back from the force of my shove, hurt flashing in her eyes before she masked it with indifference. "We're not done here, Nathan," she seethed. "You can't…you can't tease me like that, use me and…"

I needed to escape this tension, the pull of her nearness that seemed to fray my self-control.

Desperate for any kind of distraction, my hands fumbled for the watering can on the windowsill. The metal felt cool and impersonal—a welcome change from the heat of human contact. I turned the faucet on, letting the sound of rushing water fill the silence between us as the can slowly filled.

My fingers tightened around the handle of the watering can, the cool metal grounding me as I began my methodical task. Water dribbled into the soil of the first plant, the fern that always seemed on the brink of wilting no matter how much care I gave it.

"God, Nathan, will you just listen to me?" Abby's voice cut through the silence, sharp and frustrated. "I know I screwed up, but so have you. You're not Mr. Perfect, and in case you haven't noticed, I'm still here protecting you."

Her words bounced off the walls, but I kept my focus locked on the greenery before me. Leaves quivered under the gentle cascade from the spout, indifferent to the human drama unfolding just steps away.

"Protecting me?" I scoffed without looking at her, my hands moving to the next pot, a sturdy snake plant. "You've embedded yourself into my life despite what I want, Abby. That doesn't mean we're allies—or friends. Don't make the mistake of expecting that from me."

She fell silent, and I could feel her eyes burning holes into my back, but I didn't turn around. Instead, I continued watering the plants, one by one, letting the repetitive motion soothe the chaos inside me. The act of nurturing something else gave me a respite from the turmoil of our entanglement, a fleeting peace amid the storm.

As the water settled into the soil of a spider plant, I sensed a shift in the room. Glancing up, my eyes caught Abby's silhouette against the fading light filtering through the windows. Her figure was slumped, defeated as she started to ascend the staircase, her hand barely grazing the banister. The sight tugged at something within me, an instinct I despised for its persistence.

"Abby." My voice was sharper than I intended, causing her to pause mid-step, her head turning just enough to show the glisten of fresh tears threatening to spill over. "You need to understand this clearly," I said, setting down the watering can with a firmness that echoed my resolve. "No matter what little games you play, no sentimental gestures, no amount of tears will change the fact—I will not fall for your manipulations again."

Her shoulders stiffened, a silent acknowledgment of my words. There was a fleeting moment where the vulnerability in her eyes almost cracked the armor I'd built around myself.

Almost.

She didn't respond, didn't plead or protest. Instead, she turned away, continuing her ascent up the stairs, leaving me alone with the sound of my heart pounding against my ribs. I watched her go, knowing full well the complexity of our twisted bond.

With Abby gone, the silence of the house settled around me. I grabbed the watering can again, my motions mechanical as I moved from one plant to another, pouring life into the soil as if it could somehow quench the anger simmering within me. The philodendrons, the ferns—they all got their share, but not a drop did anything to cool the heat of my frustration.

She knew how to push my buttons, knew exactly where to prod to elicit a reaction. And damn it, she was good at it. Every time I told myself I was immune, she found a new crack in my armor. This dance we did, it was exhausting, yet I couldn't seem to step away from the rhythm we'd set.

I finished with the last of the houseplants and made my way back to the kitchen, ready to put the watering can away and try to forget the chaos of the past few days…well, weeks, really, ever since she'd come into my life. But as I set the can down, my gaze landed on the peace lily sitting by the window—a stark reminder of her presence in my life. It was a new addition, its glossy leaves stretching toward the light, innocent and unassuming.

She must have bought it for me.

A gift, the most literal kind of peace offering…and I'd treated her like dirt.

I reached out, fingers brushing against the dark green foliage. The contrast of the pure white bloom against my rough skin wasn't lost on me. There was something infuriating about the way she managed to leave pieces of herself behind, embedding them into the fabric of my daily life.

I hated that she could still get to me.

Hated that even now, despite the anger coursing through me, I couldn't bring myself to toss the damn plant into the trash.

With a grunt of annoyance, I watered the peace lily, ensuring its survival for yet another day—just like Abby's hold over me.