Nowhere to Hide

PIPER’S POV

The world freezes for a horrifying minute. I stay frozen on the polished floor tile, my breath trapped in my throat. Kellan doesn't move a single muscle either. Only his storm-gray eyes shift. They trace a slow, agonizing path up my exposed body. He takes his time mapping the pale curve of my bare breasts and the delicate lace edge of my bra before finishing that smug, arrogant journey straight back up to my face. The sheer audacity of his gaze is paralyzing. A chaotic cocktail of burning humiliation and fierce rage explodes in my chest. The heat floods my cheeks with enough force to melt the million-dollar floor beneath me.

I grab the hem of my tank top and yank the fabric back into its proper place. My fingers shake as I scramble backward, putting distance between us like he is a radioactive hazard. I hate the way my voice trembles when I finally find the breath to speak.

"Stop looking at me!" I snarl. My voice cracks under the crushing weight of my embarrassment.

Kellan leans back in a lazy stance of mock-surrender. He doesn't look sorry. He doesn't look embarrassed. Instead, his lips curl into an arrogant smirk that makes my skin crawl.

"Relax, little ribbon. I haven't seen anything that isn't already plastered on your sad little private Instagram account."

My brain flatlines. I stare at him, processing the drop of that specific detail.

"My Instagram account is private."

"Yeah, exactly." He drawls out the words, letting that signature, soul-destroying smirk deepen into something wicked.

The realization hits me like a physical blow. The blood runs cold in my veins before boiling over. This arrogant jerk stalks me online. Of course he does. Kellan Kincaid is the exact type of guy to pretend nothing matters while secretly keeping tabs on his high school nemesis. The digital stalking fuels my fury. He is the star ice hockey player, the guy every girl on campus fawns over, yet he spends his free time lurking on my social media just to find ammunition against me.

I shove myself off the floor, dusting off invisible dirt from my cheap clothes. Naturally, his penthouse floor is spotless. The sprawling space around us is a monument to his wealth and my utter failure. I pivot toward the exit, needing to escape the suffocating pull of his presence.

"Fine! Find another roommate. Preferably someone who won't murder you in your sleep." I snap the words out, marching toward the heavy front door.

My escape is thwarted. A solid, unyielding wall of wet muscle and low-slung sweatpants blocks my path. Water still slides down his sculpted torso, and his broad shoulders fill the doorframe. I hate that I notice the sharp V-line of his lower stomach. I hate him even more for making me notice it while my life is falling apart.

"How do you even live like this? Are you allergic to shirts, Kincaid?" I demand. My fists clench tight at my sides.

"Yes, and no, you are not leaving." He deadpans the answer with zero hesitation.

"Move, Kellan."

"Nope."

I suck in a sharp, desperate breath and attempt to shove past his massive frame. I plant my hands against his bare, hard chest and push with all my meager strength. He doesn't budge a single inch. He remains an immovable statue of infuriating ego.

"Are you actually insane?" I demand. My fingers tighten against his hot skin before I snatch my hands back.

"Probably. But Nolan sent you because you are desperate, right? All those depressing little boxes reject you?" His storm-gray eyes hold mine hostage. He knows my situation, even if he remains ignorant of the fact that I have been sleeping on a colleague's couch for days.

"I am not desperate." I lie straight through my teeth, lifting my chin to glare at him.

His dark brow arches in challenge. "Yes, you are. And judging by the look on your face, you haven't eaten a real meal for days."

I bristle, the raw sting of truth hitting too close to home. "Don't you dare pretend you care."

"I don't. I just despise seeing you act helpless." He states the words flatly, his voice devoid of any warmth.

He says it with a sharp edge. It is a declaration rooted in his pure disdain for weakness, not a shred of pity. That makes it worse. I try to squeeze past him again, but he shifts his stance, keeping me trapped in the expansive hallway.

"Please move." My voice drops to a pathetic, ragged whisper as I beg him.

"No. You are not staying at Nolan's tonight." His tone turns heavy and non-negotiable.

That statement stops me cold. He has no idea I was kicked out of Nolan's long before tonight. His gaze drops to the pathetic bag slung over my shoulder—the small bag holding the only clothes I managed to carry to my colleague's apartment. The crushing reality of my situation threatens to choke me.

"I am not going back there because I don't need Nolan, but that doesn't mean I want to stay here with you, Kellan. You are a terrible person." I whisper the accusation, letting all my bitter hatred bleed into the words.

He just smirks, looking down at me like I am a puzzle he already solved.

"Fine. If you are so certain you don't need Nolan, prove it. Stay here in the penthouse." He challenges me. His eyes flash with a daring, dangerous glint.

I scoff, accusing him of his true motives. "You would like that, wouldn't you? Getting to torture me twenty-four seven."

He steps a fraction closer, admitting it without shame. "I would. I want to watch you trip over your stubborn pride every single morning."

"Choke." I mutter the curse under my breath.

He grins, slow and dangerous. "On what, little ribbon? Relax, it was a joke. Mostly."

My stomach drops at the sound of that stupid nickname. He ruined the ribbon in my hair at age fourteen, I shoved him into a locker, and he swore he would never let me forget it. I hate him.

"I hate you," I say, breathless from the sheer force of the emotion.

"Good. Hate is energy. Energy pays rent." He shrugs off my hatred like it is meaningless lint on his broad shoulder.

"I can't afford rent here. I barely have two dollars to rub together." I fire back, gesturing to the luxurious, towering walls of the penthouse.

He offers the solution without blinking. "You can. I am matching Nolan's rate."

I blink, stunned into silence. He is offering me a cheap rent for a million-dollar penthouse in the heart of the city.

He runs a hand through his wet hair, shaking the droplets loose. "I don't need the money. I just know you need a place to stay, and I happen to have a spare bedroom. This massive penthouse gets lonely. It would be nice to have some company."

Kellan Kincaid? Lonely? The guy who thrives on intimidating people wants company?

He leans closer. His hot breath brushes my ear and sends a treacherous shiver down my spine. "You still want to leave? Fine. Go back to Nolan. His new girlfriend can tuck you in."

I flinch. The tiny, miserable tremor racks my body, and he sees it. He relishes the victory in that small reaction. He finally steps aside, leaving the front door wide open in a silent, mocking taunt.

My phone vibrates in my bag. I dig it out with trembling fingers. The cracked screen lights up with a text from Nolan.

*Have you checked out my friend’s place yet? He’s a good guy, Pip. He’ll take care of you.*

My chest twists into a sick, painful knot. Nausea washes over me at the thought of returning to Nolan's apartment. I picture walking through that door and watching him act lovey-dovey with Sloane. The betrayal burns fresh in my throat, choking my lungs. I stare at the message, then at the cold hallway outside, and finally at Kellan's broad back as he walks toward the modern kitchen.

"Stay or go, little ribbon. But pick fast. I don't beg." His deep voice drifts back to me.

I swallow my remaining pride. It tastes like bitter ash. I am defeated. Faced with the reality of being homeless on the streets or choosing my high school nemesis, the choice makes itself. He is a jerk, but he is my jerk. I can survive him.

"Wait!" I call out.

He stops, turning slowly. That infuriating smirk already curves his mouth.

"Yes?"

I roll my eyes, fighting the desperate urge to scream. "I will stay. But I have to go fetch my belongings alone."

"I am glad you chose wisely, Ribbon. Now, hold on. Let me grab a shirt and my keys. We will head out together." He declares, his tone leaving no room for argument.

"No, Kellan. I am not going anywhere with you. I will get my stuff and come back alone." I shake my head, raising my hands in firm protest.

Kellan ignores my protests. He turns on his heel and walks away, disappearing into his bedroom. I groan, sinking against the pristine wall. A huge part of me screams to run fast and far, but I have literally nowhere else to go.

Minutes later, Kellan emerges wearing a soft gray T-shirt that clings to his chest, his car keys jingling in his large hand. He steps right into my personal space and holds out his other hand, palm facing up.

"What are you doing?" I ask, eyeing his outstretched hand with heavy suspicion.

"Your phone, Pipes."

The new nickname twists my stomach into tight, awful knots. "What?"

"Give me your phone. It is about to die, and you will be coming back with me anyway. I want to help you power it up."

I stare at him, feeling powerless. Without another word of argument, I hand over the dying device. He confiscates it, shooting me a patronizing look that clearly says good girl. The blatant arrogance makes my blood boil all over again, but I keep my mouth shut. We ride the elevator down to the private garage in suffocating silence.

The drive to Nolan's apartment is a blur of passing city lights and thick, heavy tension. Sitting in the plush passenger seat of Kellan's sleek, expensive car, I stare blindly out the tinted window, dreading the impending encounter. For days, I have avoided Nolan's building, sleeping on a lumpy couch and pretending my life isn't falling apart at the seams. Now, I am heading right back into the lion's den, escorted by the devil himself. Kellan doesn't speak a word during the drive, but his dominating presence fills the small space, strangely grounding my frantic heartbeat.

The moment the car pulls up to Nolan's familiar apartment building, panic seizes my chest. I rip the passenger door open and bolt from the seat before Kellan even kills the engine. My worn-out sneakers hit the pavement hard.

"Where are you going?" I hiss orders under my breath, watching him step out of the driver's side.

"To help you pack your things."

"Oh, hell no. You will wait right outside in the car for me." I point a strict, trembling finger at the vehicle.

Ignoring me yet again, Kellan locks the car with a sharp beep. He moves past me with the silent, predatory grace of a hunter closing in on prey. His long, confident strides eat up the distance to the building entrance. I scramble to keep up with him, my heart hammering furiously against my ribs.

"Kellan… Kellan, I swear to God—"

I trail right behind him as we enter the building and ride the elevator up to Nolan's floor. The familiar hallway looks exactly the same, but it feels foreign and hostile. We reach the door I used to call home. Before I can even raise my hand to knock, Kellan smirks and forcefully rings Nolan's doorbell himself. He presses the button like he is inviting himself to a wild house party.

"Why are you so infuriating?" I ask him, letting my shoulders drop in defeat.

"You are the only one who thinks that way, Ribbon." He doesn't even glance down at me.

The deadbolt clicks. The door swings open.

My breath hitches painfully in my throat. There stands Nolan. Plastered to his arm, looking like a lost koala in an oversized sweater, is Sloane. The sight of them huddled together is a brutal physical blow to my sternum. Nolan stares at us, his jaw going slack. He is rendered speechless. His wide, guilty eyes dart between my tense posture and Kellan's massive, imposing figure looming right behind me.

The silence stretches, thick and agonizing. Nolan opens his mouth, but no sound comes out. Sloane blinks at me, tightening her grip on Nolan's bicep. The possessive little gesture sends a fresh wave of raw agony through my veins.

I refuse to let them see me bleed. Masking my internal devastation with ice-cold formality, I lift my chin and lock eyes with the man who broke my heart.

"I came for my things, Nolan. I won't be long." I announce, making sure my voice rings clear and devoid of any emotion.

With that, I push past Nolan and Sloane, stepping over the threshold into the apartment. The familiar scent of his expensive detergent hits my nose, threatening to unravel my carefully constructed composure. I am hyper-aware of Kellan's massive, silent presence anchoring me from behind. He steps in right after me, a towering wall of muscle shielding my back from Nolan's staring eyes.

I desperately want to cry. The tears burn the back of my throat, begging for release. But as I march toward the guest room, I lock those tears away behind a fortress of stubborn, desperate defiance. I refuse to let myself fall apart in front of them ever again.