Chapter 6 Regret
But regret crept into my bones sooner than I thought would.
The moment my eyes rolled back in sheer frustration, I knew I was already losing my mind. Those red block letters—the contract—flared behind my eyelids like a warning sign I had deliberately ignored.
I clung to it desperately, to the logic, the rules, and the clean lines I had drawn so carefully between us. I told myself it was enough or that it should be enough.
But my body had already betrayed me.
My breath hitched as his mouth traced my skin, heat blooming where I should have felt restraint. I hated how easily my resolve cracked, how my pulse raced as if it had been waiting for this exact moment.
My own voice sounded foreign to me when I said his name, breathless and strained, like it had been pulled out of me against my will.
“Jack… s-stop.”
Even as I said it, the tension coiled low in my body, sharp and undeniable. The contradiction humiliated me. My mind screamed no while everything else leaned toward him, toward the warmth and the attention and the dangerous comfort of being wanted.
It scared the wits out of me. Well, I guess that fear was what finally gave me strength.
I shoved him away, hands trembling, lungs burning as I sucked in air like I’d been drowning.
“I told you to stop.” My voice was breathless, frayed at the edges. “I’m sorry—I shouldn’t have. No, we shouldn’t have done that. I’m sorry, okay? This should never have happened.”
I didn’t wait for his response because I couldn’t. If I stayed even a second longer, I knew I would crumble completely.
So I fled ridiculously to the bathroom.
The door slammed shut behind me, the sound was sharp and final. I moved again immediately, locking myself into the bathroom, as if layers of wood and metal could somehow protect me from what I had just done. The click of the lock echoed far too loudly in the silence that followed.
Then I leaned back against the door, my spine pressed into the cool surface, eyes squeezed shut so tight it almost hurt. I wanted to rewind time, to erase the last ten minutes like a mistake scribbled in pencil.
But my body remembered everything like a curse: his careful touch and the warmth of his mouth hot on my skin. My knees trembled, weak and unreliable, and I hated them for it. I hated myself for it. Especially the attraction, I didn't realize it until now.
I guess it's because I was becoming weak, maybe too weak and unable to discern what my feelings were.
A sharp breath tore out of me as I slid down the door, my legs folding beneath me until I was sitting on the cold tile, arms wrapping around my torso like I could physically hold myself together. My chest rose and fell unevenly, my breath jagged and the icing on the cake was the shame winding tighter and tighter around my ribs.
“What were you thinking Elena?” I whispered, my voice brittle in the quiet. “How could you let this happen?”
I wasn’t talking to him, I was talking to the part of me that had known better. The part that had set the rules, drawn the lines, sworn... that I would never blur them—that quiet, logical voice that prided itself on control.
“We had a deal,” I murmured, bitterness coating every word. “A contract. No lines crossed and no blurred intentions.”
My throat tightened. I bit the inside of my cheek hard, welcoming the sting because it grounded me and it kept my voice from breaking.
“And yet,” I continued softly, “I let myself feel something.”
Yes, I felt something. For Jack Roman. Attraction? Infatuation? Love or lust? I couldn't tell but I shouldn't have let myself feel anything in the first place.
I folded forward, pressing my forehead to my knees like I could compress the chaos inside my head. The contract had been clear—between Jack and me, but more importantly, between me and myself.
In summary, it was a vow to keep it simple and safe because he was not mine to fall for. Not now and probably not ever.
And still, in a handful of stolen seconds, I had shattered that promise. A promise made not just to him but to myself.
I guess loneliness had whispered lies in my ear and longing had dressed itself up as comfort and as permission. His touch had made me forget—just for a moment—that wanting something didn’t mean I was allowed to have or to take it.
Now regret seeped into my bones, cold and sharp, like frost spreading beneath my skin.
I lifted my head slowly, eyes burning with guilt that refused to turn into tears.
“You’re so stupid,” I whispered. “So damn stupid.”
Beyond the door, there was nothing. No footsteps, no knock and no sound of him trying to follow me. So I told myself that silence was good and definitely necessary. But it only made the regret heavier, because a part of me—small and traitorous—had wanted him to knock. Silly me.
I was supposed to be the one in control. The boss. I was supposed to be Elena Vale.
The woman who set the rules and enforced them without hesitation. I was supposed to be level-headed, composed, and untouchable.
But instead, I was curled on a bathroom floor, shaking under the weight of my own impulsiveness. It's all my fault.
Deep down, I had called it a flimsy attraction when I first noticed the way Jack looked at me. I thought it to be chemistry, a flicker of it maybe but it was there.
I told myself I’d imagined it but that's not it. I had fed it and allowed it to grow. I let myself notice the lines of his body, the edge of his voice, the glimpse of those stupid tattoos that made my thoughts scatter like sparks.
And then I’d given in like an idiot.
I covered my face with my hands, pressing my palms so hard into my skin that it left faint imprints. Shame clogged my throat, thick and bitter. My shoulders trembled with the sobs I refused to let out, because this wasn’t just emotional weakness.
It was professional failure. I had compromised the structure I built on my terms.
The authority I stood on. I had let myself want more than I should have, in the one place—emotionally and literally—where I was meant to hold the highest ground.
Worse than the touch was the vulnerability that came before it. My thoughts spiraled—
The way my voice had softened when I said his name. The way I’d let him see how tired and lonely I was. The way my body had answered him even while my mind screamed no.
I slammed my palms against the floor in quiet frustration, as if punishing myself might drive the regret out of my veins.
But It didn’t.
It only deepened the hollow ache in my chest.
Was this the beginning of my undoing?