But she thought she could.
That thought alone made my stomach twist.
I threw the covers back with more force than necessary and swung my legs over the edge of the bed, needing to move, to shake off this weight pressing into my spine.
In the mirror, I didn’t recognize myself.
Eyes tired. Lips still swollen from a kiss I hadn’t asked for—but hadn’t stopped either. There was defiance in my reflection. And something else. Something raw and shaken.
I touched my mouth.
Just a brush of fingers.
And that was all it took for the memory to return—his mouth on mine, the blood between us, the way he kissed like a man on the verge of losing everything.
I hated how much I remembered.
Downstairs, I found him in the kitchen. His back was to me, shoulders tense, posture too still to be casual. He poured two mugs of coffee. One for him. One for… hope?
He didn’t turn right away.
But he knew I was there.
I saw it in the way his hand faltered for half a second. The way he inhaled like bracing for a blow.
When he did face me, his eyes found mine instantly. Searching. Waiting. Maybe for forgiveness. Maybe for a sign that this cold war between us was over.
But I didn’t have it in me—not yet.
And the look I gave him held no warmth. Only frost.
We stood like that—adrift in the wreckage, too raw to reach out, too stubborn to look away.
And maybe that was the most honest thing we’d ever shared.
I pushed myself out of bed, the cold biting at my skin like punishment for sleeping too long. Every step toward the kitchen felt like defiance—against him, against myself, against the chaos still clinging to my ribs like vines.
I needed to move. To breathe. To pretend I wasn’t drowning in yesterday.
I opened the fridge and grabbed a smoothie—strawberry banana. The bright swirl of pink and gold as I poured it into a glass felt wrong somehow. Too cheerful. Too untouched by the mess unraveling inside me.
I took it to the table and sat down, wrapping my hands around the glass like it could anchor me.
Outside, the garden looked… perfect.
Too perfect.
Red blooms exploded beside tall yellow stalks. Green vines curled up trellises like they had all the time in the world. The whole thing looked like it belonged in a fairytale—like it didn’t know the storm sitting on the other side of the window.
It pissed me off. How peaceful it looked. Like the world hadn’t shifted beneath my feet.
I took a sip of the smoothie, hoping the sweetness would push the bitterness back down. It didn’t.
And then he walked in.
Hades. A cut on his face. Bruise under his eye.
He didn’t knock. Didn’t announce himself. He just appeared—backlit by morning light, every inch of him looking like a sin wrapped in control. My heart stuttered, then picked up pace like it couldn’t decide what to do.
