Fleeting Flames - Jenna Ortega x Fem Reader

Part 15

The days after your fight with Jenna were a blur—emails, meetings, and late nights at the office. You threw yourself into work, determined to prove that your success was yours alone. There was an unexpected satisfaction in the grind, in knowing that each step forward was a testament to your skills and commitment.

But as you tried to leave Jenna behind, it became clear she wasn't willing to make it easy.

She started with messages—long, thoughtful texts and short, regretful ones. Apologies threaded through questions, memories, and little reassurances, each attempt gently nudging you to reply, but you didn't.

The sharp knock at your door barely registered over the music blasting from your speakers. You ignored it at first, scrubbing furiously at a countertop smudged with yesterday's coffee. But the knocking grew louder, more insistent, until you finally yanked the door open.

There she was, standing there like she had every right to be, her arms crossed, her eyes scanning you like she was already trying to figure out her next move.

"Go away," you said flatly, starting to shut the door.

Jenna caught it with her hand, pushing her way inside before you could stop her. "Nope. We're not doing this." She stepped in, glancing around the apartment like she belonged there. "I know you're mad, but running from me won't solve anything."

You turned away from her, walking into the kitchen without another word. If she wasn't going to leave, you weren't going to give her the satisfaction of reacting. She thrived on your reactions, lived for the back-and-forth that had always been your thing. Not tonight. Tonight, you were done playing her game.

"You're not going to say anything?" she asked, following you.

You didn't answer, focusing instead on rinsing out an empty glass.

She leaned against the counter, watching you, her presence impossible to ignore even when you tried. "You're really going to give me the silent treatment? That's cute, Y/N. Real mature of you."

"You don't get to lecture me about anything," you said finally, your voice clipped as you set the glass down harder than you meant to. "Not after what you did."

"Okay," she said, holding up her hands like she was surrendering. "I get it. You're mad—"

"No, Jenna," you interrupted, spinning to face her. "I'm not mad. I'm hurt. You didn't just mess with my life, you made decisions for me without even asking. You played me like I'm some pawn in your little game, just because you wanted me here. Do you have any idea how that feels?"

Her smirk faltered for a second, but then she shrugged, brushing it off like she always did. "I didn't think it was that big of a deal. You've got a great job, you're living in LA. What's there to complain about?"

You stared at her in disbelief, your chest tightening with the weight of everything you wanted to say. "The problem isn't the job, Jenna. It's the fact that you didn't give me a choice. You took that away from me—my choice, my autonomy—just because you wanted me here. Did you even think about what I might've wanted? Or did you only care about yourself?"

She opened her mouth to respond, but you turned away, heading for the living room. "Just go home," you said over your shoulder. "I don't want to deal with this right now."

"Not happening," she called after you, following you into the room.

You dropped onto the couch, grabbing the remote and turning on the TV as if she wasn't even there. She stood in front of the screen, blocking your view.

"Move," you said, your voice cold.

"Nope," she replied, crossing her arms. "Not until you talk to me."