Lana's POV
He didn't reply.
I knew he'd heard me no matter how small and almost fragile my voice came out. Yet he kept driving with his eyes fixed in the road like I hadn't spoken at all, like it was nothing.
I turned towards him, waiting for anything. Maybe a word or even a glance or an irritation. Something to just show.
Yet nothing.
The only sign that I wasn't invisible to him, was his hands. I saw how his fingers slowly closed around the steering wheel, so hard the leather even began to crack beneath them.
"You heard me, right?"
Still silence. This time around stretching even further.
But I kept talking. There was just this strong urge to pour out everything.
I guess it was now after that loser had called me a slut, the weight of everything dawned on me.
That just in the blink of an eye I'd lost my name.
The whole world saw me as bitch that fucked her way up the ladder.
And if words got out that the most influential man who doesn't fuck with noise was seen defending me in the lobby of his company today, I might as well just be ripped apart.
"I said I can't do it," I continued, my voice rising beyond how I had wanted it to go. "This whole thing you're talking about … I can't…."
My throat closed halfway through the sentence because I was trying so hard to control my tone.
The anxiety I now felt was making my hands tremble.
"I can't," I repeated, weaker now. "I feel like a slot. You heard him, didn't you? You heard the whispers? The way they laughed while he insulted me like I wasn't even human".
That was when I felt something warm drip from my face down to my palm and I realized that I had been crying all along.
Tears spilled more and more and more , hot and humiliating down my cheeks.
I was trying so hard.
God, I swear I was using every ounce of strength I had left to keep myself together, to not fall apart in public, especially not in front of him.
But it was so hard.
Hard to keep enduring everything. And even harder to keep pretending I wasn't breaking.
I just wanted to sit in my room and ask why it had to be me.
I bit my lips so hard drawing little blood, it seemed desperate but at least the pain kept me grounded. Like if I kept biting hard enough, I wouldn't shatter.
Still, he said nothing.
Not a word. Not even a flicker of reaction.
He just kept driving with his face forward, as if my tears were background noise to him.
Didn't he just say he was going to protect me?
Or had everything he said been mere words? Did he say it to prove a point, or to remind me how big he was and how I was so underneath him?
If there was any other word for stupid that was how I felt.
How could I have been so foolish enough to think I could break in front of him and get even an ounce of attention from him.
He shouldn't have seen that.
I felt like slapping myself, like knocking sense back into my head. Why would I cry? I should've waited until I got home. Just a few minutes more.
Because I was going home… right?
The thought barely settled before something felt wrong.
I lifted my head, my pulse suddenly quickening as I looked through the windshield. The road ahead wasn't familiar and there were no buildings around, they were replaced by tall trees and long grassy narrow roads to fit only one car.
Now I was feeling uneasy. First I had forgotten I had been with a complete stranger and let my guards down.
I didn't care if he was a public figure, it's been once rumored he had ties with the underworld. What if he was going to sell me to them or even worse kill me.
More tears filled my eyes as different thought on how I might end filled my head.
"Where are we going?" I asked, turning sharply toward him.
"To the lake,". He still didn't glance at me.
"Why?" My voice shook.
"You'll find out soon."
"I'm.. I'm sorry…. "
His hands tightened further on the steering wheel, the veins round his hands stood out like cords beneath his skin, even his knuckles had turned white. But he kept driving leaving me in a suffocating silence.
When the car finally slowed, I realized that maybe we were alone, my heart hammered very hard against my ribs dread and confusion tangled in my chest.
I checked my purse but my phone wasn't even in it. There was no way I could reach out for help.
This was all on blue. That bitch. I swear I was going to kill her if I ever made it alive from here
He stopped abruptly.
And for a split second, neither of us moved.
Then he got out like he was angry with the world and most especially himself for reasons only him knew, and slammed the door with enough force to pull it off.
Then he rounded the car in long, angry strides.
When he reached my side, he didn't wait.
He yanked the door open.
"Get out," he said.
The words were clipped and edged with irritation. No, with an anger that he could barely restrain.
I hesitated, my legs suddenly felt heavy.
Oh God help me please….I prayed as I sat wishing all this would go away.
But he still stood there with tensed muscle holding the door tight with firm grip and a little impatience.
Everything just radiated tension and a mix of something I couldn't name. From the way his jaw clenched, to the way his eyes burned and remained on my lip.
I was supposed to be feeling scared. But I had shamelessly begun to feel hot down there.
I wanted to touch it and show him how just a look from him could get me all wet.
Maybe I was a slut. His slut.
But I'd never admit that to him or anyone. Not even myself and so I stepped out. With my head a little high, who knows maybe I'd be able to mask how horny I had become.