Carved in Her Bones

now - Rhian

The next morning I spent actively avoiding Jack. I couldn't deal with his subtle comments and glances—not with Tomas and his possessiveness simmering in the back of my mind. By lunchtime, my frustration hit another level. Tomas hadn't texted. And since Jack obviously hadn't made lunch for me, either, I shot a quick message to Agathe. She and I had a sort of mutual understanding—filler friends. She was my go-to when Oliwia, Jack, or Simon weren't around, and I was hers. I had half an hour left on shift and decided a drink with her would be a better way to end the day.

As I was closing out the books, my phone lit up with a message from Tomas: Driver waiting. I packed your bag. Need to show you something. You don't work tomorrow, right?

Right, I texted back.

True to his word, Raff was waiting in front of the building. "Good evening, Miss Rhian," he greeted me as I climbed in, still annoyed at Tomas for going quiet all day. I settled in and let the music wash over me, trying not to dwell too much on what I might find when I arrived.

After a while, though, I noticed Raff wasn't taking us home. "Raff, is there traffic on the A4?"

"No, Miss Rhian. Mr. Tomas said to take you to the airfield."

I bit back my annoyance, staring out the window. I hated when a driver knew more about my plans than I did. Thirty minutes later, we arrived at a small airstrip. As I stepped out, Tomas was waiting, leaning against his family's private jet with a satisfied, almost smug smile.

"Hey, baby," he said, leaning in to kiss me.

I turned, giving him my cheek. "I thought we were going to look at some 'investments.'"

His eyes twinkled, but I could see he knew I was annoyed. He led me on board and made sure I was settled in the co-pilot's seat, strapping me in before joining me. Moments later, the his voice came over the intercom, announcing our destination: Berlin. I looked at Tomas, and that little hint of guilt in his eyes confirmed everything.

When we landed, a car took us to a sleek building in the heart of Berlin. We rode up the elevator in tense silence, my suspicion growing with each floor. When we finally arrived, a realtor was waiting to show us around a breathtaking penthouse, all glass walls and panoramic city views.

We viewed three apartments, each one more luxurious than the last. By the time we reached the third, it was painfully clear what his "investment" was: he was trying to buy me a place to stay—because he didn't trust me to live with a male friend.

When we reached our room at the Hilton that evening, I couldn't hold it in anymore. "What the hell, Tomas?  You seriously think I can't spend four weeks away from you without cheating?"

He looked at me, a flicker of doubt in his eyes. "I trust you, baby, I swear I do. It's him I don't trust."

"You don't even know him! Tadgh is like a brother to me; we grew up together."

"Is he single?" His voice was hard, challenging.

"Yes, he is, and what does that even have to do with anything?" I practically yelled, my patience snapped.

"Don't you get it, Rhian?" His face twisted with frustration. "He wants you."

"No, he doesn't. He's my friend. You're exhausting, Tomas!" I took a breath, furious, pacing across the room.

He finally sighed, softer this time. "Fine. If you pick one of the apartments tonight, I'll drop it. I promise."

Anger flared in me. "This isn't love, Tomas. This is control. I wont let you control me too, i cant " My voice was raised, and the room echoed with the weight of our words.

The weight of my words hung heavily between us, and I felt myself boiling over. I didn't know whether I wanted to scream or walk out, but I knew I couldn't just leave it at this.

"Tomas," I said, voice sharp, challenging. "I'm not some prize you can buy a penthouse for and keep on a shelf. I won't let you—"

But before I could finish, he closed the distance between us, his hand moving to my cheek, his lips crashing against mine in a fierce, unyielding kiss. The frustration, the resentment, the heat between us spilled over, and I felt myself responding, my hands threading into his hair as I pulled him closer, demanding as much as he gave.

"Is this what you wanted?" I murmured, defiant, as he broke away for a second, his breath ragged.

"I want you, Rhian. Always," he growled, pulling me against him with a force that was both possessive and desperate.

His hands roamed over me, each touch electric, as though trying to claim what he was so afraid of losing. I pushed him back against the wall, feeling his surprise melt into satisfaction. Our movements were fast, almost reckless, and I could feel the tension breaking between us as we let it consume us both. The anger, the passion, the raw need—it all blurred together as his hands gripped my waist, lifting me and pressing me against the cool wall.

I gasped, feeling the intensity of his desire in the way he held me, the way he kissed me, rough and unapologetic. My hands explored him just as fiercely, nails digging into his shoulders, wanting him to feel just as bruised and undone as I did.

"Is this what you need to trust me?" I challenged between breaths, staring into his eyes, daring him to admit what we both knew—that no penthouse could ever keep me, that his control would only drive us to this edge again and again.

But he only pulled me closer, his lips on my neck, trailing fire as he murmured, "Yes. And more."

For a moment, it felt like our anger would consume us both, leaving nothing but this tangled, desperate connection. And maybe it would, I thought, as he lowered his forehead to mine, breathing hard, his hands still wrapped around me as though he couldn't bear to let go.

In the silence, the room held the echoes of what had passed between us—a fierce, unresolved mix of love, anger, and maybe desperation