Penelope's POV
The silence felt like it lasted forever. I remained frozen on my knees on the elevator floor, my palms still pressed against Bernard's thighs. He stood above me without his shirt, his chest rising and falling unevenly.
The blonde woman watched us with a mixture of disbelief and fury.
"I can explain this," I stammered, scrambling to stand up, but my legs seemed to have lost all coordination.
Bernard extended his hand and pulled me to my feet. He grabbed his damp shirt and put it back on with quick, precise movements.
"No explanation needed," he said. His voice had returned to its usual composure. Professional. But I noticed the rigid tension in his posture that hadn't been there moments before.
The blonde woman entered the elevator, a knowing smile spreading across her crimson lips.
"Well, well," she said, her gaze moving between Bernard and me. "I see you've acquired a new plaything, Bernie."
The word plaything stung like a physical blow.
