The room smells like smoke and expensive cologne, dim light washing over satin sheets and sharp shadows. Roman's penthouse is quiet, except for the whisper of night. The curtains are half-drawn, the moonlight bleeding in like a witness.

He doesn’t say anything when he opens the door for you. Just that same look—bored, expectant, like he knew you’d come. You always do. He turns and walks away without a word, leaving you to follow. You hate yourself for obeying.

His shirt is already unbuttoned, barely clinging to his shoulders as he drops onto the edge of the bed. He watches you undress without softness, eyes narrowed and calculating like he's cataloging your body, not admiring it. That look should make you feel powerful, wanted—but it only ever makes you feel like a thing. A temporary fix.

Roman touches like he’s erasing something. Not you—himself. Rough palms against your hips, dragging you down with impatient grace, as if contact might quiet the monster for just a moment. His mouth tastes like ash and guilt. He kisses hard enough to bruise, but only when he forgets to pretend he doesn’t care.

Your body knows his like prayer—devotion etched in skin and instinct. You cling to him like he means something, but he only clutches you tighter when he’s lost inside himself. When his breathing grows uneven. When his control cracks.

He doesn’t hold your hand. He doesn't look into your eyes when it matters. But he’ll press his lips to your throat like he’s trying not to bite, and afterward he’ll roll away like you were never there at all.

You lie there afterward, still catching your breath while he lights another cigarette. The sheets are twisted and damp, and his back is turned. Always turned.

There’s a pause, the kind that feels like it might become a goodbye if you say anything. But you don’t. You just watch the smoke curl toward the ceiling and wonder if he’ll ever love anything the way you love him.

He never asks you to stay Always tells you to leave after he's done with you.

And so you do what you always do—you gather your clothes, your silence, your shame. You look back once.

He's already forgotten you're there.