Chapter 11: Tangled Sunlight
Vanja woke to the brutal clarity of morning sunlight slicing through the gap in Kenan’s blackout curtains. It hit her retinas like a physical blow, forcing a groan from her dry throat. Awareness came in painful layers. First, the ache. Deep, radiating soreness in muscles usually reserved for explosive starts and record-breaking sprints. Then, the oppressive heat. Bodies pressed flush against her own. Kenan’s arm was a heavy, possessive band across her ribs, pinning her back against his chest. His skin, slick with dried sweat, stuck to hers. Alex was sprawled on her other side, his face turned towards her, one rough hand splayed possessively low on her bare stomach, just below her navel. The scent of stale sex, sweat, and expensive cologne hung thick in the air, trapped under the stifling duvet.
She tried to shift, a tiny movement to ease the crick in her neck. Kenan’s arm tightened instantly, pulling her deeper into the curve of his body. His breath was warm and steady against the nape of her neck. She lay still, staring at the intricate pattern of light and shadow dancing on the ceiling. Her mind felt hazed, fragmented by the sheer physical and emotional onslaught of the previous night and the violent awakening Alex had subjected her to. Sandwiched. The word floated, unbidden and grotesque. Stuck between two men welded to her by bodily fluids and unresolved fury.
Alex stirred. His eyelids fluttered open, bleary, unfocused at first. Then his gaze sharpened, landing on Vanja’s face, tracing the faint purple smudges beneath her eyes, the bruise blooming near her collarbone – Alex’s earlier brand. His eyes, usually bright with playful arrogance, were shadowed, haunted. He looked wrecked. His hand, resting on her stomach, flexed slightly, his thumb brushing the sensitive skin just above the line of the sheet pooled at her hips.
Across Vanja’s body, Kenan’s grip tightened fractionally more. A silent, territorial counterpoint. He didn’t open his eyes, but his stillness became charged, predatory. Alex’s gaze flicked up, meeting the challenge radiating from the man glued to Vanja’s back. A muscle ticked in Alex’s jaw. His thumb stroked again, a deliberate, claiming caress right where Kenan’s arm anchored her.
Vanja sucked in a breath. The air felt thick, unbreathable. "Stop," she rasped, her voice scraped raw. She tried to push Alex’s hand away, but her own limbs felt leaden, weak.
Alex ignored her. His eyes locked with where Kenan’s would be if he opened them. "You’re crushing her," Alex stated, his voice flat, devoid of its usual playful lilt.
Kenan’s eyes snapped open. Dark, fathomless, utterly alert. He stared directly at Alex over Vanja’s shoulder. "She’s fine." His voice was low, rough with sleep, but carrying an undeniable edge. His arm didn’t loosen. If anything, it pulled Vanja infinitesimally closer, making the press of his body against hers even more undeniable. She could feel the hard line of him, the latent power coiled even in stillness.
Alex’s hand slid lower, dipping beneath the edge of the sheet, his fingers tracing the curve of her hipbone. A blatant invasion. A direct challenge to Kenan’s claim. Vanja flinched. "Jesus, Alex—"
Kenan moved. Fast. His hand shot out, clamping down hard over Alex’s wrist, stopping his exploration. Alex’s arm tensed, muscles bunching under Kenan’s grip. Their eyes clashed, inches apart over Vanja’s trapped body. The air crackled with silent, vicious animosity. Vanja felt like thin paper caught between two grinding stones.
"Get your hand off her," Kenan growled, the sound vibrating through Vanja’s back.
Alex bared his teeth in a semblance of a smile, all sharp edges and no warmth. "Or what? You gonna flip her over again? Show me how it’s done?" The reference to his own brutal claiming hung foul in the air.
Kenan’s fingers tightened on Alex’s wrist, knuckles white. Alex hissed, his free hand clenching the sheet. Vanja could feel the tremors running through both men. She squeezed her eyes shut, wishing she could vanish. The heat was suffocating. The smell was nauseating. The weight of their conflict, their unspoken history and fresh hatred, pressed down on her chest.
"Get off me," she choked out, finding a sliver of strength. "Both of you. Get the fuck off!"
She shoved weakly at Alex’s chest with her free arm. He didn’t budge, his focus entirely on Kenan, the silent battle raging through their locked grips. Kenan’s hold on her ribs felt like steel.
A low, dangerous chuckle rumbled from Kenan’s chest. "Hear that, Pavlovic? The lady wants space. Maybe you should learn to listen." He shoved Alex’s hand away from Vanja’s hip with brutal force, releasing his wrist. Alex recoiled, glaring murder.
Vanja seized the fractional loosening of Kenan’s grip. She twisted, pushing herself up and sideways with a surge of adrenaline-fueled desperation. She scrambled off the bed, the cool air hitting her sweat-slicked skin like a shock. She stood naked, trembling, the rumpled bed a stark tableau of tangled limbs and hostility behind her. Kenan propped himself up on one elbow, watching her with that unnerving, possessive intensity. Alex sat up fully, rubbing his wrist, his gaze flicking between her and Kenan, simmering with humiliation and rage.
"Space," Vanja repeated, her voice shaking but edged with cold fury. She grabbed Kenan’s discarded robe from the floor where it had fallen during the night, wrapping it around herself like armor, cinching the belt tight. The luxurious fabric offered no real protection. She felt exposed, raw, the physical marks on her body throbbing reminders.
Kenan slowly swung his legs over the side of the bed. He stood, stretching with animal grace, completely unselfconscious in his nudity. He walked towards her, stopping close enough that she could feel the heat radiating off him. He reached out, not to touch her, but to tuck a strand of tangled dark blonde hair behind her ear. The gesture was terrifyingly intimate after everything. "Shower’s through there," he murmured, his voice dropping into that low, private register he used only with her. His eyes held hers, intense, promising nothing good. "Don’t take too long."
Alex watched them, his expression hardening into something bleak and closed. He pushed himself off the bed, grabbing his discarded boxers. "I need air," he muttered, the words clipped, avoiding looking at either of them. He stalked towards the glass doors leading to the penthouse balcony, wrenching one open and stepping out into the bright morning without a backward glance.
Kenan’s gaze followed Alex for a moment, a flicker of something cold in his eyes, then returned to Vanja. He leaned in, his breath warm on her temple. "Go on," he urged softly, but it wasn't gentle. It was an order.
Vanja didn’t hesitate. She turned and fled towards the sanctuary of the ensuite bathroom, locking the door behind her with trembling fingers. Leaning back against the cool wood, she squeezed her eyes shut, trying to block out the image of their silent battle over her body, the weight of their hands, the suffocating heat. The shower. She needed the scalding water, the roar to drown out the echoing silence of their war. She pushed off the door, heading for the glass enclosure, stripping off the robe that felt like another man’s skin. As she turned on the water, the first scalding drops hitting her shoulders, she heard the faint murmur of voices outside, drifting through the cracked balcony door Alex had left open. Kenan had joined him.
The water pounded down, stinging her bruised skin. Vanja pressed her forehead against the cool tile, trying to breathe. Trying not to think about Alex’s shattered look, Kenan’s terrifying possessiveness, or her own traitorous words hanging in the charged air: I love you both. Outside, the low rumble of male voices continued, an ominous counterpoint to the water’s roar. Whatever fragile, poisonous truce the bed had forced was over. The real battle lines were being drawn in the morning sun, and she was caught squarely in the middle. She stayed under the spray, letting the heat scald her, waiting for the inevitable fallout.
The water beat down, relentless and hot, plastering Vanja’s dark blonde hair to her scalp, tracing the faint bruises Alex’s grip had left on her hips. She kept her eyes squeezed shut, forehead pressed to the cool tile, trying to dissolve the tension coiling in her shoulders, the phantom weight of their conflicting claims. But the steam couldn’t wash away the low, angry murmur vibrating through the glass door from the balcony, punctuated by the distant groan of city traffic far below. Kenan and Alex were still out there. The fragile morning silence had shattered.
On the expansive balcony, the scent of Kenan’s jasmine blooms clashed violently with Alex’s simmering fury. Alex leaned against the cool glass railing, the city sprawling beneath him, but he saw none of it. His knuckles were white where he gripped the metal. Kenan stood a few feet away, unnervingly relaxed, sipping from a crystal tumbler filled with amber liquid, his gaze fixed on Alex with a predator’s calm assessment. The morning sun glinted off the expensive watch on Kenan’s wrist.
"You look like shit, Pavlovic," Kenan observed, his voice deceptively mild. He took another slow sip. "Rough night?"
Alex finally turned, his jaw clenching. "Cut the act, Yilmaz. What the hell was that? In there?" He jerked his head towards the bedroom. "Acting like you own her? She’s not some fucking trophy to be grabbed."
Kenan’s smile didn't reach his eyes. "Strange. Sounded like she told both of us to get off." He set his glass down on a nearby teak table. "She came back here with me, Alex. Remember? After the party. After you tried to pull your possessive bullshit then, too." He took a step closer, the air thickening. "She chooses. Every single time. She chose to leave that party with me."
Alex’s restraint snapped. He pushed off the railing, closing the distance in two strides, getting right in Kenan’s face. "You think this is a fucking game? Some pissing contest? She’s my best friend!" Spittle flew. "That history you two have? It’s cheap. Meaningless. You fuck her when it’s convenient. I know her."
Kenan didn't flinch. He just stared back, his dark eyes cold and unreadable. "Do you?" He let the question hang, sharp as a blade. "You know her so well, yet you had to wake her up by pinning her down like an animal? Making sure I saw you mark your territory? Real classy, Pavlovic. Real healthy way to show you 'know' her." He leaned in, his voice dropping to a venomous whisper only Alex could hear. "She moaned my name louder last night, after you passed out."
Inside, under the scalding water, Vanja flinched. She couldn't make out the words, but the timbre was unmistakable: Kenan's low, dangerous purr, Alex’s ragged, rising fury. Fear, cold and slick, coiled in her stomach, cutting through the shower’s heat. She turned off the water. The sudden silence was deafening, amplifying the muffled voices outside. She stood dripping, trembling, the luxurious bathroom feeling like a gilded cage. I love you both. The memory of her own voice, thick and drugged with exhaustion and sensation, echoed cruelly. What had she unleashed?
On the balcony, Alex saw red. Kenan’s words, the image they conjured, the sheer fucking arrogance, ignited a white-hot fury he’d been choking down since last night. "You son of a bitch!" His hand shot out, shoving Kenan hard against the solid glass railing. The crystal tumbler smashed on the tiles. Kenan grunted, caught off-guard by the raw violence of the shove, his back hitting the thick pane with a thud that vibrated through the balcony. He recovered fast, bracing himself, but Alex was already on him. Fueled by jealousy and a possessiveness he could no longer name or control, Alex slammed his body against Kenan, pinning him hard against the unyielding glass, the city a dizzying backdrop behind them. VANJA GRINDS HARDER. He leaned in, forearm pressing against Kenan’s throat, not enough to cut off air, but enough to dominate, to threaten. "Touch her like that again," Alex snarled, his face inches from Kenan’s, breath hot and ragged, "talk about her like that again, and I swear to god—"
Kenan didn't struggle. He just stared back, a flicker of something dangerous, almost pleased, in his eyes. A challenge accepted. "And what, Alex?" he rasped against the pressure on his windpipe. His smile was a cold slash. "What exactly will you do? Break my leg on the pitch? Tell the tabloids?" He tilted his head slightly. "Or just try to fuck her harder? We saw how well that worked out for you last time. She still ended up under me."
Vanja stood frozen in the steam-clouded bathroom, Kenan’s deep-pile robe hanging loosely around her damp body. She heard the smash of glass, the heavy thud against the balcony door, Alex’s enraged shout. Her heart hammered against her ribs. She had to stop this. Now. Before it went further. She grabbed the robe’s belt, cinching it tighter, a futile gesture of readiness. Taking a shaky breath, she reached for the bathroom doorknob. The cool metal bit into her palm.
Outside, Alex’s forearm trembled against Kenan’s throat. Kenan’s words were gasoline on the fire, designed to provoke, to expose the raw nerve. Alex’s vision swam at the edges, rage warring with a sickening mix of humiliation and a terrifying, undeniable truth he couldn’t face. He drew his arm back, fist clenched, poised to erase that knowing smirk. Before he could strike, the balcony door slid open wider. Vanja stood silhouetted against the bright bedroom light, her hair dripping onto the robe, her face pale, eyes wide and shocked, fixed on the violent tableau before her. Kenan, pinned against the glass. Alex, fist raised, trembling with incoherent fury. Kenan’s gaze slid past Alex’s shoulder, locking onto Vanja. His cold smile widened, just a fraction, as he deliberately relaxed his body against the glass, presenting himself as the victim, the calm one, even with Alex’s fist hovering inches from his face. His eyes held Vanja’s, silently claiming victory in Alex’s unraveling. Alex followed Kenan’s look, turning his head. Seeing Vanja standing there, witnessing his loss of control, his utter humiliation, the fury in his eyes flickered, replaced by something raw and stricken. Kenan’s low voice cut through the strained silence, aimed solely at Alex but loud enough for Vanja to catch every damning word: "She sees you now, Pavlovic. She sees exactly what you are."
Vanja flinched at Kenan’s words as if struck. Alex’s fist remained frozen in the air, his face a mask of humiliation and fury under the harsh morning light. The scent of crushed jasmine, spilled whisky, and male aggression hung thick on the balcony. "Let him go, Alex," Vanja ordered, her voice cutting through the tension, sharper than the broken crystal at their feet. "Now."
Alex’s arm trembled. He looked from Kenan’s infuriatingly calm expression to Vanja’s pale, determined face. Something in her gaze – disappointment, maybe fear – finally broke through his rage. He lowered his arm, shoving himself away from Kenan with a disgusted grunt. He stalked past Vanja into the bedroom without looking at her, the air crackling with his retreating anger.
Kenan straightened his t-shirt, rubbing his throat with an exaggerated wince. A faint red mark bloomed where Alex’s forearm had pressed. "Dramatic," he murmured, his eyes never leaving Vanja. "Always so dramatic." He stepped towards her, invading the space Alex had vacated. His hand reached out, fingertips brushing the damp collar of the robe she wore – his robe. "You shouldn’t have interrupted. He needed the lesson."
Vanja slapped his hand away. "Don't." Her voice was low, dangerous. "Don't push him like that. Don't push me." Her skin still felt raw from the shower, her muscles screaming from the night and the morning’s violence. She needed sanctuary. She needed control. The steam still curling from the en-suite bathroom whispered an escape. "Both of you," she stated, turning her back on Kenan and the wreckage on the balcony. "Shower. Now. You smell like a bar fight."
Kenan raised an eyebrow, a slow, intrigued smile spreading across his face. "Both of us?" He followed her into the bedroom where Alex stood rigidly by the rumpled bed, pulling on his boxers with jerky movements.
Alex’s head snapped up, eyes blazing. "Like hell I’m sharing a shower with him."
Vanja yanked the robe’s belt tighter, facing them. The damp fabric clung. "I didn’t ask. I’m telling. Get in. Now. Or get out of this penthouse entirely." Her Olympic authority, usually reserved for the track, sliced through the room. "You want to act like animals? Clean yourselves up. And shut up while you do it." She walked towards the open bathroom door, steam still billowing out. She paused on the threshold, looking back at them. "Well?"
Kenan chuckled, low and amused. He exchanged a look with Alex – a look of shared, grudging disbelief at her audacity. Shrugging, he padded towards the bathroom, his bare feet silent on the tiles. "Your wish, champion." He disappeared into the steam.
Alex remained frozen for a beat longer, conflict warring on his face – wounded pride, residual fury, exhaustion. He stared at Vanja, then at the empty space Kenan had vanished into. With a sound of pure frustration – a sharp exhale through gritted teeth – he stalked past her, shoulders hunched, and pushed through the steam after Kenan.
Vanja leaned against the doorframe, listening. The roar of the shower intensified as a second sprayhead activated. She heard the heavy glass door slide shut with a muffled thud. No voices. Just the relentless drumming of water on tile. She closed her eyes, the sudden containment of their hostility offering a fragile, temporary relief. The penthouse felt vast and hollow around her, the only sound the hiss of water and the frantic beating of her own heart. What chaos had she just locked behind that fogged glass?
The relentless drumming of water on tile filled the penthouse, a steady counterpoint to Vanja’s own frantic heartbeat. She leaned against the bathroom doorframe, the cool wood a stark contrast to the damp heat radiating from within. What chaos had she just locked behind that fogged glass? Silence answered her, thick and heavy beneath the shower’s roar. No shouts, no thuds. Just the hiss of pressurized water. It felt unnerving, this sudden containment of their seething hostility. Like caging two predators still dripping blood.
Inside the spacious glass enclosure, the steam hung dense, obscuring details. Alex stood rigidly under one sprayhead, the scalding water plastering his dark hair to his skull, rivulets tracing the tense lines of his shoulders and back. He stared fixedly at the tile wall, jaw clenched so tight it ached. Kenan occupied the opposite corner, the water cascading over him with deceptive calm. He methodically soaped his arms, his movements economical, his gaze occasionally flicking towards Alex’s rigid form with detached curiosity. The air vibrated with unspoken venom, the shared space an unbearable intimacy forced by Vanja’s command. Alex flinched when Kenan shifted, reaching for the shampoo bottle on the ledge between them. Their elbows nearly brushed. Alex jerked his arm away as if burned.
Vanja pushed the bathroom door wider, stepping fully into the humid room. The steam curled around her bare legs beneath Kenan’s robe. She watched them through the condensation-streaked glass – two powerful athletes locked in a suffocating truce, water sluicing away the sweat and whisky but not the tension. Her own exhaustion warred with a cold, sharpening resolve. This couldn’t continue. The possessiveness, the violence, the silent war fought over her skin. It ended now. On her terms. She walked to the shower door, her bare feet silent on the wet tile. Her hand gripped the cool metal handle.
The door slid open with a soft rumble, releasing a thick cloud of steam into the bathroom. Both men turned, startled. Water streamed down Alex’s face, blurring his vision, but he saw her silhouette, the determined set of her shoulders. Kenan wiped water from his eyes, his expression shifting from mild surprise to wary assessment. Vanja didn’t hesitate. She stepped into the shower, fully clothed in the oversized robe now instantly soaked and clinging. The hot water hit her, shocking against her cooler skin. She stood between them, the spray hitting her back, her gaze sweeping from Alex’s stormy confusion to Kenan’s guarded watchfulness.
"Enough," Vanja stated, her voice cutting cleanly through the water’s roar. It wasn't loud, but it carried absolute authority, the tone she used when shutting down reporters or unruly competitors. Alex blinked water from his eyes. Kenan tilted his head slightly, waiting.
"This," Vanja gestured sharply between them, droplets flying, "ends. Right now." Her eyes locked onto Alex, raw and demanding. "You." Then she turned that fierce gaze on Kenan. "And you." She took a breath, the soaked robe heavy on her shoulders. "You want to fight over me? Fine. But you fight each other. Not through me. Not over my body like I’m some fucking prize." Her voice trembled slightly, but her stance was unwavering. "You think you know possession? You think you know claim?" A cold, almost feral light entered her eyes. "Prove it."
Before either could react, Vanja moved. She reached out, her wet hands clamping firmly on the back of Alex’s neck and Kenan’s neck simultaneously. She used her considerable strength, honed by years of explosive starts, pulling them forward with irresistible force. Alex stumbled, off-balance, a choked sound escaping him. Kenan’s eyes widened fractionally, genuine surprise flickering through his usual composure. Vanja yanked them together, hard.
Their bodies collided with a wet slap under the pounding spray. Chest to chest. Face to face. Inches apart. Alex recoiled violently, trying to wrench himself backward, his hands coming up instinctively to shove Kenan away. "Vanja, what the fu—!" Kenan braced, his own hands gripping Alex’s forearms, not pushing back yet, but holding him there, trapped by Vanja’s unyielding grip on both their necks. Their eyes locked – Alex’s blazing with outrage and humiliation, Kenan’s darkening with a dangerous, dawning understanding.
"Kiss him," Vanja commanded Alex, her voice low and guttural, vibrating with intensity. Her fingers dug into the wet muscle at the base of his skull. "You want me? You want to prove something? Kiss him. Right now." She shifted her fierce gaze to Kenan. "And you. Let him. Show me this isn't just about marking territory against each other." She gave Kenan’s neck a sharp, insistent squeeze. "Do it."
A strangled noise tore from Alex’s throat. Pure, visceral revulsion twisted his features. He strained against Vanja’s iron grip and Kenan’s restraining hands. "Fuck no! Are you insane?!" Kenan, however, had gone very still. He stared at Alex’s contorted face mere inches from his own, then flicked his gaze to Vanja. He saw the absolute, terrifying conviction there. The challenge. The raw power play. A slow, almost imperceptible shift occurred in his posture. His resistance eased. His hands loosened slightly on Alex’s forearms, not releasing, but ceasing to push. He tilted his head the faintest degree. Acceptance. Invitation. His dark eyes held Alex’s, unblinking beneath the falling water.
Vanja felt Alex’s muscles coil like springs beneath her hand. She leaned in, her lips brushing Alex’s wet ear, her voice a razor-sharp whisper lost to Kenan under the water’s noise but felt in the tension. "Do it, Alex. Or walk out that door and never touch me again." The ultimatum hung, brutal and final. Alex froze. His panicked eyes darted from Vanja’s fierce, close expression to Kenan’s unnervingly calm, waiting face. The humiliation was scalding, worse than the shower water. Worse than Kenan’s taunts. The choice was annihilation or surrender. His breath hitched, ragged and desperate.
With a sound like a wounded animal, a raw gasp torn from deep within his chest, Alex Pavlovic closed the infinitesimal gap. His lips crashed against Kenan Yilmaz’s. It wasn't a kiss. It was a collision. A brutal, awkward mashing of mouths, teeth scraping, devoid of anything but shock and enforced contact. Alex kept his eyes wide open, staring blindly at the tile over Kenan’s shoulder, his body rigid with disgust. Kenan’s eyes slid shut. He didn't move, didn't reciprocate, but he didn't pull away. He simply endured the harsh pressure, his stillness somehow more profound than Alex’s violent rejection. Water streamed over their pressed faces, mingling, dripping from chins and noses.
Vanja held them there, locked in that grotesque embrace, her hands like vices on their necks. She watched, her own breath shallow, her heart pounding against her ribs like a trapped bird. She saw Alex’s revulsion, the tremor running through him. She saw Kenan’s terrifying stillness, the complete surrender to her will. Power, cold and absolute, surged through her, momentarily eclipsing the exhaustion and the ache. This was her victory. Forced, brutal, exposing the raw nerve of their conflict laid bare in the steam. She held them until Alex’s choked gasp became a sob trapped in his throat, until the unnatural stillness of Kenan felt like a depthless void.
Then, abruptly, Vanja released them. She stepped back out of the spray, the soaked robe heavy and cold against her skin. Alex stumbled backward, hitting the shower wall, scrubbing furiously at his mouth with the back of his hand, spitting water, his face a mask of utter devastation. Kenan slowly opened his eyes. He wiped his mouth with deliberate slowness, his gaze fixed on Vanja, dark and unreadable, water dripping from his lashes. Vanja met his look, then Alex’s shattered one. Without a word, she turned, water pooling around her feet as she walked out of the bathroom, leaving the steam and the shattered silence behind. The shower door slid shut with a soft, final click.