Chapter 28 Dinner at the Penthouse
Jaxon walked down the hall with slow, heavy breaths, trying to steady himself. The entire penthouse felt too quiet… almost painfully quiet after the chaos of earlier. He paused at Elena’s door, lifted his hand to knock—and the door opened before he touched it.
Elena stepped out.
Wearing only a towel.
Her hair was wet, darkened from the shower, loose droplets running down her shoulders like glitter under the soft hallway lights. Her skin looked flushed from the heat of the bath, and the towel wrapped around her sat precariously, resting just above her chest and ending mid-thigh.
Jaxon froze.
Actually froze.
His breath caught sharply, and his hand—still raised to knock—hung in the air uselessly.
Elena gasped softly, just as startled.
But neither of them moved.
The hallway felt suddenly too small. Too warm. Too intimate.
For a moment, all Jaxon could do was stare.
At her.
At the softness of her features.
At how vulnerable and unbelievably beautiful she looked without even trying.
He swallowed hard, jaw tightening, eyes darting away immediately in respect.
But his reaction betrayed everything he was trying to control—his pulse quickened visibly at the base of his throat.
“S-sorry,” he finally muttered, stepping back instantly, giving her space like she was fire and he was afraid he’d burn if he got too close.
“I—I didn’t know you were… dressed like that.”
Elena clutched the edge of the towel tighter, equally flustered.
“It’s okay,” she whispered, her voice warm and soft.
“I didn’t expect you to be at the door.”
He nodded, eyes fixed firmly on the floor now, desperately avoiding another accidental glance.
“I only came to tell you… dinner’s ready,” he managed, though his voice was rough, strained.
“I made something light. You need to eat. After everything today… you need strength.”
The care in his voice struck her harder than she expected.
His concern felt genuine, protective… almost intimate.
Elena’s cheeks flushed a deeper shade, but she found herself smiling just a little.
“Thank you, Jaxon.”
That small smile—after the day they had—hit him like a punch.
He cleared his throat. Hard.
“Well… I’ll—I’ll be downstairs,” he said, backing away like every step was a battle against his own thoughts.
“And… take your time. No rush.”
He turned.
Stopped.
Then turned back again, eyes flicking up—just once—to meet hers.
A slow, soft confession slipped out before he could stop himself.
“I’m… glad you’re safe, Elena.”
It was quiet.
Gentle.
Honest.
Her breath caught.
And for a moment, neither of them looked away.
Jaxon forced himself to after a long second, exhaled shakily, and walked down the hall—not too fast, not too slow—shoulders tense, hands clenched at his sides, fighting every instinct screaming to go back, pull her close, and never let anything happen to her again.
Elena closed the door softly behind her, heart racing.
And she whispered into the quiet room—
“Me too.”
Then she leaned against the door, touching her chest where her heart wouldn’t stop pounding, trying to understand why one single moment with him felt more dangerous—and more unforgettable—than the entire kidnapping.
An act of Love was becoming REAL.
Jaxon moved around the kitchen with calm precision—far calmer than he felt. After the chaos of the day, he wanted something grounding, something normal, something he could control. He plated a simple but elegant dinner: creamy chicken Alfredo with a side of sautéed vegetables and warm garlic bread. Something light… something comforting.
He had just finished arranging the cutlery when he heard the soft padding of footsteps behind him.
Elena walked into the dining area.
Jaxon froze.
She wore grey bum shorts that hugged her curves and a black fitted top that made her look effortlessly beautiful. Her damp hair fell over her shoulders, and her skin still held the warm glow of her shower. For a moment, Jaxon forgot how to breathe.
Elena looked from him to the food, eyebrows raised in surprise.
“You cooked?” she asked, half amused, half shocked. “Where are the house helps?”
Jaxon smirked at her expression. “Contrary to what you think, I don’t need house helps to boil pasta.”
She gave him a playful glare. “That’s a lie.”
“Fine,” he conceded with a shrug. “I gave them the night off.”
“Why?” Elena asked as she slowly walked toward the table.
“So we can be ourselves tonight,” he said, his voice lower than he intended. “No pretense. No acting like we’re madly in love.”
He watched her reaction carefully. There was a flicker in her eyes—something he couldn’t place.
Elena pulled out a chair and sat. “Funny. I feel like we’ve been pretending so long that I don’t even know what ‘ourselves’ looks like anymore.”
Jaxon sat opposite her. “Then maybe we start figuring it out.”
Their eyes held longer than they intended before they both looked away.
They began to eat in a comfortable silence until Elena cleared her throat, her tone casual—almost too casual.
“By the way… the clothes in the closet. The shoes. The perfumes. The everything.” She raised a brow. “Do you always have… guests? Or are they Maya’s?”
Jaxon chuckled lightly—not offended, just amused by how bothered she sounded.
“They’re brand new,” he said truthfully. “I called my PA to buy everything. I didn’t know your style, so I told her to get… well, everything.”
Elena blinked. “That’s… an extra mile, Jaxon. For someone you feel nothing for.”
He paused with his fork mid-air.
“Pretence,” he said finally. “If we’re going to convince the whole world we’re in love, you need to at least look comfortable living here.”
Her cheeks warmed. “Right. Pretence.”
But the word didn’t sit right. Not after everything that happened today.
Not after the way he’d looked at her earlier.
Dinner ended quietly but not awkwardly. There was a softness between them neither could name. When Jaxon stood to clear the plates, Elena rose too.
“Let me help,” she offered.
Jaxon shook his head. “You’re a guest, Elena. I don’t let my guests wash dishes.”
She smiled—genuine, warm, and tired. “You know, for someone cold and arrogant, you can be surprisingly sweet.”
“And for someone who claims not to like me,” he countered, “you compliment me a lot.”
She rolled her eyes, but he saw her blush.
After the dishes were done, Jaxon leaned against the counter, studying her.
“We have a big day tomorrow,” he said softly. “You should rest.”
Elena nodded, suddenly aware of her exhaustion.
“Yes… we should.”
They walked down the hallway together, stopping at the door of her guest room. For a second, neither spoke. The air between them hinted at something unspoken—tension, gratitude, attraction… all tangled into one.
“Goodnight,” he said gently.
“Goodnight.”
They both stepped back into their rooms… but sleep didn’t come immediately.
Both lay awake, staring at the ceiling, replaying the kidnappings, the fear, the rescue…
And oddly, the way it felt safe to sit across from each other in a quiet penthouse, pretending nothing else existed.
Eventually, exhaustion pulled them under.
Tomorrow would change everything.