NOVEL ONLINE FREE Chapter 27: Continuing the Date
The Penthouse
Vincent's penthouse occupied the top three floors of the city's most exclusive building, a monument to wealth and taste that existed in a realm far removed from mall chaos and knockoff designer stores. Floor-to-ceiling windows offered a panoramic view of the glittering cityscape, while the interior spoke of understated luxury—all clean lines, rich textures, and carefully curated art.
Helena found herself standing in the main living area, still processing the transition from biological warfare to this sanctuary of sophistication. The contrast was almost dreamlike, as if she'd stepped through a portal into another world entirely.
"Impressive," she said, turning slowly to take in the space. "Though I have to ask—do you always bring witnesses to your elaborate revenge schemes back to your place?"
Vincent moved to the bar area with fluid grace, his movements precise as he selected a bottle of champagne from what appeared to be a temperature-controlled collection that probably cost more than most people's cars. "Only the particularly perceptive ones," he replied, the Dom Pérignon opening with a soft pop that somehow sounded expensive.
Helena accepted the crystal flute he offered, their fingers brushing in a way that sent electricity up her arm. "And what makes you think I'm not going to pretend the same thing?"
Vincent's smile was predatory as he raised his glass. "Because you're still here."
The champagne was perfect—crisp, complex, with bubbles that seemed to dance on her tongue. Helena found herself studying Vincent over the rim of her glass, noting how the city lights played across his sharp features, highlighting the dangerous intelligence in his eyes.
Helena settled onto the plush sofa that probably cost more than her monthly rent, the champagne creating a warm glow as she studied Vincent's profile against the city lights.
Vincent joined her on the sofa, close enough that she could smell his cologne—something expensive and intoxicating that seemed to fit perfectly with everything else about him. The silence stretched between them, charged with unspoken implications of what they'd both witnessed, what they both understood about each other now.
Helena's rational mind screamed warnings—this man had just orchestrated something terrible with surgical precision, had manipulated events like a master puppeteer. She should be horrified, should make her excuses and leave. Instead, she found herself leaning slightly toward him, drawn by something she couldn't name.
"You're impossible, you know that?" she said finally, her voice carrying a mixture of accusation and fascination. "You just orchestrated complete chaos, and here you are serving vintage champagne like nothing happened."
"The Dom Pérignon is excellent, by the way. Vintage 2008." Vincent's response was maddeningly casual as he reached over to refill her glass, his hand briefly covering hers on the crystal stem. The touch lasted a moment longer than necessary. "You should appreciate it properly."
Helena felt her pulse quicken at the contact. "Vincent." Her voice carried a warning, but also something else—an undercurrent of excitement that she couldn't quite suppress. "What you did today... it was terrible. Absolutely terrible."
"Yes," Vincent agreed readily, his dark eyes never leaving hers. "It was cruel, and manipulative, and completely over the top."
"And I can't stop thinking about how brilliant it was." The admission slipped out before she could stop it, her voice dropping to almost a whisper.
Vincent's smile widened, predatory and knowing. "Is that so?"
Helena felt her cheeks flush, whether from the champagne or from Vincent's intense gaze, she couldn't tell. Her heart hammered against her ribs as she realized what she'd just confessed. "You're dangerous, aren't you? Not just to Jin, but to everyone around you. You see people as pieces to be moved around for your amusement."
Vincent leaned forward slightly, close enough that she could feel the warmth radiating from his body. "What makes you think you're safe?" he asked, his voice low and intimate, tinged with dark amusement.
The question sent a shiver down Helena's spine—part fear, part anticipation. She should be afraid. Every instinct told her to run. Instead, she found herself unconsciously moving closer to him, drawn like a moth to flame.
"You're not like other people, are you?" she asked finally, her voice barely above a whisper.
"No," Vincent replied simply, his gaze intense and unwavering. "Neither are you."
Helena's breath caught at the directness of his statement. "What do you mean?"
Vincent shifted closer, the space between them shrinking to mere inches. "Most people would have run screaming after witnessing what happened today. They would have been horrified, disgusted, traumatized. But you..." His voice dropped to a hypnotic murmur as his eyes searched her face. "You were fascinated. You wanted to understand how it worked, why I did it, what other capabilities I might have. That's not a normal response, Helena."
She felt exposed under his gaze, as if he could see straight through to parts of herself she'd never acknowledged—the part that had felt a dark thrill watching Jin's humiliation, the part that was intrigued rather than repulsed by Vincent's calculated cruelty. Her champagne flute trembled in her grip.
"Maybe I'm just curious by nature," she said weakly, even as she recognized the lie.
Vincent's smile was predatory, triumphant. "Maybe." His hand reached up to trace along her jawline with surprising gentleness, the contrast making her breath hitch. "Or maybe you recognize a kindred spirit."
The touch of his fingers against her skin sent electricity coursing through her veins. Helena set down her champagne flute with trembling hands, her pulse hammering as she met his gaze. "Is that what this is? Are we kindred spirits?"
"Why don't you tell me?" Vincent challenged, his thumb continuing its slow caress along her jaw. "What did you feel when you watched Jin's world crumble? When you realized I had orchestrated the entire thing?"
Helena took a shaky breath, her heart pounding as she forced herself to be honest—with him, with herself. The admission felt like stepping off a cliff. "Excited," she whispered. "Turned on. Impressed. Horrified at myself for being impressed, but impressed nonetheless."
Vincent's eyes darkened with satisfaction, and Helena felt something inside her chest flutter like a caged bird finally recognizing its true nature. The tension between them had become almost unbearable, crackling in the air like electricity before a storm.
"The bedroom has an even better view," Vincent said conversationally, as if they'd been discussing the weather, though his voice carried an undertone that made her pulse race. "Perfect for continuing this conversation in more... intimate surroundings."
Helena's pulse quickened as she met his gaze, seeing her own dangerous fascination reflected back at her. The evening had already crossed so many lines—what was one more? "Lead the way," she said, her voice steadier than she felt.
Vincent rose and extended his hand to her, his movements fluid and predatory. As Helena took it, feeling the warmth and strength of his fingers against hers, he pulled her up and against him in one smooth motion.
The proximity stole her breath. She could feel the solid warmth of his chest, smell his intoxicating cologne, see the dangerous promise in his dark eyes.
"Vincent," she whispered, his name barely audible.
Instead of answering, he leaned down and brushed his lips against hers—barely a kiss, more like a question. His mouth was warm and firm, the contact feather-light yet somehow searing. Helena's lips parted slightly in surprise, and she felt the subtle curve of his smile against her mouth before he pulled back just enough to study her reaction.
Her hands had instinctively moved to grip the lapels of his jacket, anchoring herself as her world tilted. When he pulled back, his eyes were dark with desire, pupils dilated as he searched her face.
"Still curious?" he murmured against her ear, his breath warm and sending shivers cascading down her spine.
Before she could form a coherent response, he cupped her face in his hands, his thumbs tracing along her cheekbones as he tilted her face up to his. This time when their lips met, it was with devastating thoroughness. His mouth claimed hers with a hunger that stole her breath, his kiss deep and consuming. Helena felt herself drowning in the sensation—the firm pressure of his lips, the way he tasted faintly of champagne and something darker, more intoxicating.
Her rational mind finally surrendered as she kissed him back with equal fervor, her fingers tangling in his hair as she pressed closer to him. The kiss deepened, became more urgent, more demanding. Vincent's hands slid from her face to her waist, pulling her flush against him as Helena lost herself completely in the intoxicating combination of danger and desire.
When they finally broke apart, both breathing heavily, Vincent's thumb traced along her jawline with that same surprising gentleness.
"Still want to see that view?" he murmured, his voice rough with want.
Helena nodded, not trusting her voice, her heart racing with anticipation and a dark thrill she'd never experienced before. As Vincent led her toward the bedroom, she knew there was no turning back. The day's madness had ignited something primal and dangerous between them, and she was ready to discover exactly what kind of kindred spirits they might be.