Roman and Julienne's heart desire
Chapter 65: The creek of the bathroom door

Chapter 65: The creek of the bathroom door

The drive was smooth, a silent symphony of city lights streaking past the tinted windows.

Logan’s hand rested casually on the wheel, his posture relaxed, but his eyes—those sharp, calculating eyes—kept drifting toward Rachel.

Not often. Just enough. Fleeting glances that said more than any carefully chosen word could.

Rachel caught one of those looks and allowed herself a faint smile.

He’s really trying tonight.

Maybe he was more invested than he let on. Or maybe... he was simply better at pretending than she ever gave him credit for.

They arrived at Étoile, a rooftop restaurant perched above the heartbeat of the city.

From the outside, it didn’t look particularly grand, but once the elevator doors opened, it was like stepping into a dream suspended above reality.

Soft golden light bathed the space in warmth.

Panoramic windows offered an endless view of the skyline—skyscrapers glittering like glass giants and, below, the city pulsing like a river of lights.

A poised hostess approached them. Logan spoke smoothly, "Mr. Steve, right this way."

Rachel arched a brow as they followed her through the restaurant.

They passed intimate tables, couples wrapped in candlelit conversations, their laughter soft and private.

"Reserved under steve, huh? Fancy," Rachel teased, her voice laced with amusement.

Logan smirked. "That’s the alias I use when I’m trying to impress a beautiful woman who thinks too much."

"Do I think too much?" she asked, eyebrows raised.

He didn’t look at her. "Always. That’s part of your charm."

They were shown to a private table near the edge of the terrace, bordered with low, transparent glass.

It offered an unobstructed view of the city stretching out like a jewel box.

A single candle flickered between them, casting soft shadows across their faces.

Rachel slid into her seat, eyes scanning the ambiance—the low hum of jazz playing from hidden speakers, the quiet elegance of the space, the calm clink of silverware.

"You didn’t hold back," she said, a bit breathless.

Logan sat across from her and poured water into their glasses. "You only get one first celebration dinner."

"Celebrate what?" she asked, taking a delicate sip.

"Surviving each other," he said dryly. Then, with a gentler tone, "Or pretending we’re normal for a night."

Rachel tilted her head slightly, studying him. "You’re surprisingly poetic when you want to be."

He gave a faint smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. "And you’re surprisingly trusting, considering everything."

Their orders came—steak for him, truffle pasta for her, and a bottle of sparkling rosé Logan had already picked.

To her surprise, something shifted as they ate. A strange ease settled between them like a fragile truce.

The conversation, once edged in sarcasm and hidden meaning, became fluid.

Stories—some half-truths, some genuine memories—flowed freely, laced with laughter.

Especially Rachel’s laughter—clear, unforced, and rare.

It made Logan pause every time, like he was collecting pieces of something he didn’t yet understand.

Mid-meal, Logan set down his fork. "Tell me something real. No filters. No games."

Rachel blinked, caught off guard. "You first."

"I don’t trust you," he said without hesitation.

Rachel smiled softly. "That’s fair. I don’t trust you either."

Logan nodded, almost pleased. "Good. That makes us honest."

"But I still came," she pointed out, swirling her wine.

"And I still brought you here," he countered. "So maybe we’re both stupid."

Rachel leaned in, voice lowered. "Or maybe we’re both dangerous."

Their eyes locked—an electric second of raw understanding neither could explain.

Dessert was declined, and soon they stepped onto the open terrace.

The night had cooled to a perfect breeze, brushing Rachel’s bare arms like a whisper.

She moved to the railing, her hands resting lightly on the glass.

Her hair lifted slightly with the wind, catching bits of light from the flame behind her.

"It’s beautiful," she murmured. "Makes you forget everything."

Logan came beside her, close enough that their arms brushed. "Don’t forget everything. That’s how people get played."

She turned, facing him. "Is that what you think I’m doing? Playing you?"

He didn’t answer right away. "I think you’re waiting. Watching. Trying to see which side I land on—good guy or villain." He met her gaze.

"Problem is... I don’t think even you know which side you want me on."

Logan asked deliberately.

Rachel’s lips parted, but no words came.

She leaned into him instead, letting her head fall against his shoulder.

"Do you think this will work?" she asked, barely more than a breath.

Logan stared out at the skyline. "You mean us?"

She nodded, once.

A pause.

"For now," he said softly.

The words were gentle, but they cut deeper than any harsh truth. Rachel didn’t reply.

She just stayed there, leaning into him, while the city sparkled beneath them like a distraction meant to soothe the sting of reality.

He doesn’t trust me. Even though I let him believe I gave him everything... even my body, Rachel thought bitterly. Isn’t that something?

"Do you not like me anymore?" she asked suddenly, her voice raw and unsure.

Logan turned to her, surprised. "Who said I don’t?"

"The way you talk right now," she replied, her tone small.

She was starting to like him more than she ever intended.

And now she feared he was preparing to walk away.

"You seriously take this to heart?" Logan asked, amused but not unkind.

He turned fully toward her, gently intertwining their fingers.

"Of course I do," she said. "Why wouldn’t I?"

Logan gave a slow smile, one that hovered on his lips but never quite reached his eyes.

Rachel, lost in his expression, didn’t notice how that smile vanished the moment she looked away.

"That’s why I said you overthink," Logan murmured, brushing his thumb across her hand.

"But you know I love you, Logan," she confessed suddenly, the words rushing out before she could stop them.

His eyes widened for a moment.

’ God, what’s gotten into her tonight? he thought. Or maybe this runs deeper than I expected. So easy... this might actually work.

’ Love, my foot, he mocked silently, though he never let it show.’

Rachel frowned, noticing a flicker of something unreadable in his eyes.

’ What’s going on with him?’ she wondered. But she said nothing.

’ How long can I keep this act up?’ Logan mused, shifting slightly as something stirred inside him.

He needed to distract himself—fast.

"I also do," he said finally, holding her gaze with a smile that warmed her heart like the sun after rain.

Rachel turned her head, resting it again on his shoulder.

She smiled from the depth of her heart, gazing at the stars.

She had opened her heart to Logan tonight.

He had shown her a side she rarely saw, and it filled her with a cautious kind of hope.

For the first time in a long while, she felt safe in someone else’s silence.

But for Logan, the silence was anything but comforting. It was suffocating.

’ Hmm... I will,’ he thought darkly.

After a few minutes, they walked back to the car.

Logan opened the door for her like a gentleman, his smile wide and easy.

He was playing his part to perfection.

"So, my apartment mate," he said brightly, "Let’s head in."

He helped Rachel out of the car, extending his hand, which she gladly took, her whole frame lifting with the sheer joy of it.

Inside, the apartment welcomed them with soft lamplight and familiar quiet.

"I’ll shower," Rachel announced, heading for the bathroom.

Logan nodded with a simple, unreadable smile.

The moment the door clicked shut behind her, the smile dissolved.

His eyes, once calm, now burned red around the edges the space between his legs all occupied by the feeling inside him as it swell bigger.

That sound—the bathroom door shutting—was like a trigger, flipping a switch he was barely holding back.

Meanwhile, inside the bathroom, Rachel undressed slowly, letting the silence wrap around her like a second skin.

She stepped into the shower, letting the warm water soak her skin, her hair, her thoughts.

The spray hit her back, loosening the tension in her shoulders.

But then... she heard it.

" Creek."

A faint noise—the sound of the door opening.

She stilled. Her hand hovered over the shampoo bottle.

"Logan?" she called out, voice echoing softly.

There was no answer. Just the sound of the water, and her own breath.

’ Maybe I’m just hearing things,’ she told herself, exhaling.

Her shoulders lifted and then fell with a soft, nervous laugh. She shrugged.

The water continued to stream down her body in rivulets, tracing every curve.

And then—suddenly—arms wrapped around her from behind.

Rachel gasped, breath catching in her throat.

Her back stiffened as the water kept running, now warming not just her skin but the tension in the air.

"Logan...?" she whispered.

But the way the hands moved—confident, slow, possessive—told her it was him.

Still, something in her gut twisted.

And she couldn’t shake the feeling that the man holding her... wasn’t holding her heart the same way she had given it.