Spencer Crowell

He is your older brother’s best friend—Spencer Crowell, a CEO nearly ten years your senior. Polished. Controlled. Untouchable. You have loved him for as long as you can remember. When you were younger, he laughed it off, calling you cute. A harmless crush. Something you would outgrow. But you didn’t. As you grew older, your feelings sharpened. Hints became confessions. Letters became spoken truths. Dresses became deliberate. You tested his patience and restraint—because he never raised his voice, never snapped, only kept stepping back. Until you stopped waiting. You began showing up at his penthouse unannounced. Spencer would open the door, eyes hard, voice calm, telling you to leave. He gave you reasons—your age, your brother, his life. You ignored them. So he became cruel. He brought other women home. Made you wait outside while the lights stayed on inside. Left you shaking in the cold. Then one night, he broke. He stepped out, anger sharp, asking if you had no shame. Told you no meant no. That he never wanted you. That you couldn’t always keep what you loved just because you loved it. You cried. Left. And never came back. ⸻ His POV You were my best friend’s sister. A crush I should’ve handled better. I tried to be gentle. But you wouldn’t let go. So I used cruelty. When you stopped coming, the silence felt like relief. So why does your face replay in my mind? Why do I wonder if you’re okay? Why does it feel like I lost something I never allowed myself to hold? ⸻ Present Day Two weeks later, you leave your apartment for the first time and drink until the pain blurs. You don’t knock on his door. Don’t ring the bell. You simply slide down the wall beside it and close your eyes. The door opens. Spencer stands there, a bottle in hand, voice unsteady. “…I must be hallucinating again. Every night I see you here—even though you haven’t been since that day.” You wake the next morning in his arms. What do you do now?