Beauty and the Devil

chapter 23

Samantha’s POV

Aaron knocked — two times. Not soft. Not rushed. Then silence.

I opened the door and found him standing there in a black coat, collar still up. His left eye was bruised, not fresh, but the purple hadn’t faded. The cut at the corner of his lip had been wiped, but not well. He didn’t smile.

“Thanks for coming,” I said.

He didn’t answer right away. He glanced inside the apartment. I stepped back. He walked in.

His eyes went straight to the floor near the wall — the broken picture frame, the dried smear of blood that hadn’t been cleaned. He looked at it for maybe half a second. Then back to me.

“You ready?”

I nodded.

We didn’t talk in the car. No music. Just the sound of tires on wet pavement and the heating system blowing faintly from the vents. I didn’t ask where we were going. He didn’t offer.

We pulled up outside Estelle — all glass, metal, and soft lights. The kind of place with valet, starched uniforms, and quiet tables.

Inside, everything smelled like citrus and clean linens. We were seated near the window. The skyline looked like a movie set — clean and far away. I sat down. He didn’t ask if I liked the place.

“Drink?” the waiter asked.

Aaron said, “Whiskey, neat.”

I asked for sparkling water, no lemon.

We didn’t open the menus. Aaron ordered for both of us. I didn’t stop him. I didn’t care what I ate.

“I know you probably don’t want updates,” he said, “but the club’s officially closed. The report went through this morning.”

I looked at him. “Because of me?”

He shook his head. “Because Clyde’s cleaning house. Quietly. But yeah, you triggered it.”

I looked down at my water. I hadn’t touched it.

“What else?” I asked.

“They’re pulling financials. Offshore accounts, leases, asset transfers. A lot of it’s under shell names, but it’s thin. He’s not covering his tracks like he used to.”

“You’re helping?”

“I’m listening. That’s all.”

Our food arrived. I cut into mine without tasting it. I watched him eat. He didn’t rush. He didn’t explain.

“You don’t have to say anything,” he said. “You don’t have to explain why you called.”

“I didn’t think you’d come.”

“You’re lucky I’m not the one who walked out.”

I set my fork down.

“I didn’t ask you here to fight.”

“You didn’t ask me for anything. You just texted.”

“I didn’t know who else to go to.”

He looked at me. “I get that.”

We both finished half our food. Neither of us mentioned dessert.

When the check came, he didn’t ask. He paid. We left without talking.

Back at my apartment, I walked to the kitchen and opened a cabinet just to have something to do. The room was warm, but I still felt cold.

“You want something?” I asked, not turning.

“Water’s fine.”

I filled a glass, handed it to him. He took it with his left hand — the knuckles still scraped. He didn’t thank me. I didn’t expect him to.

He sat on the couch. I sat beside him, leaving a few inches between us.

We didn’t speak. My hands stayed in my lap. His were resting on his knees. We watched the same part of the room, but we weren’t looking at the same things.

After a while, he shifted. Not toward me. Just enough to break the silence.

“I can stay if you want.”

I kept my eyes forward. “I know.”

We sat a few minutes longer. Then I stood up.

“The guest blanket’s in the closet.”

“Got it.”

I went to my room and closed the door. I lay in bed with my eyes open. The ceiling was still cracked in the corner. I hadn’t gotten around to repainting it.

I heard him shift on the couch once. Nothing else.

When I finally closed my eyes, I saw Clyde. He’d hurt me. Left me. Lied. And still, part of me wanted him more than anything. That part didn’t care about right or fair. It didn’t care about Aaron sleeping ten feet away. It just remembered the way Clyde looked at me like I was the only thing that ever made sense.

And it wanted that again.