None of your damn business.
Dean:
That means he’s alreadywhipped.
Harvey:
Oh, he’s whipped. Look at him, defending her like a gladiator.
The typing bubble pops up again, and this time it’s Nathan. He’s slower. Always careful with his words.
Nathan:
Just don’t get reckless, man. I don’t want to see you hurt.
The others keep ribbing, tossing gifs and smart-ass comments, but I don’t answer. Not right away.
Because Nathan means it. And his warning sits heavier than theirs.
I remember how he looked after his first love gutted him. How the shine dimmed from his eyes and never really came back. He loved once, hard, and it nearly destroyed him.
I glance at the bed. Sabrina’s curled there in my shirt, breathing soft, the sheets tangled around her.
No.
That won’t be me.
She won’t do that to me.
I won’t let her.
I set the phone aside and slide back under the covers. She sighs the second I wrap my arm around her, like her body was waiting for me.
I bury my face in her hair, breathing her in, a smile tugging at my mouth despite everything.
Mine.
Cold.
That’s the first thing I register when I wake—the sheets beside me are cold. The weight of her is gone. No warmth. No soft sound of her breathing.
Just empty.
My gut sinks before my brain catches up.
She left.
The thought hits like a fist, sharp and deep. My chest tightens, because the idea of her slipping out without a word… without so much as a glance back at me—Christ, it feels worse than I expected.
I stare at the pillow where her head rested, hair still faint against the linen. I can almost hear her sighing the way she did when I pulled her close last night, like she finally let herself trust me.
And now she’s gone.
No note. No goodbye.
My jaw clenches as I shove a hand through my hair. It shouldn’t matter. We barely know each other. This marriage isn’t supposed to be about feelings.
But the hollow ache twisting in my stomach doesn’t care about logic.
