He pulls out and steps back, his seed spilling onto the tile and barely missing me. He doesn’t bother cleaning up; he simply tucks himself back into his jeans, his eyes locked on mine. Anger radiates from him—not only in the lingering musk but also in the fierce glint in his eyes.
My legs tremble as they support me, my body still charged from the unfulfilled hunger of desire. I’m left speechless as he turns away, unlocks the door, and slips out without even a backward glance.
I quickly pull my jeans back onto my bare leg and pull them up, then lock the door as a torrent of conflicting emotions washes over me. I’m not going to crumble—I know I’ve made a colossal mistake, and I’ll have to face him in the morning. What was I thinking? Clearly, I wasn’t.
Using a paper towel, I clean up the undeniable evidence of our encounter from the floor and toss it into the trash. When I catch my reflection—lips still swollen from his kisses, eyes shining with unshed tears—a sob breaks free, echoing with regret.
I’ve checkedmy reflection a million times, each glance confirming what I already know—there isn’t a single hair out of place. My makeup is flawless, just like the polished image I’ve spent years perfecting for the world. But still, I flip down the visor one last time, inspecting my lip gloss. A heavy breath escapes me as I snap it back up and push out of the car.
Every bit of my body seems to vibrate with apprehension. What am I going to walk into? It feels like it will be a firing squad with how raw last night left me.
The heels of my black boots click against the pavement as I cross the street to their studio. I swipe my clammy palms over my jeans, the fabric cool beneath my touch as I try to steady myself. The door looms ahead, and I hesitate, fingers brushing against the handle.
The sweater I chose this morning suddenly feels too warm as I step inside, the warmth of the interior wrapping around me like a shroud.
It’s just like yesterday. Same studio. Same walls. Same faint hum of music.
But I’m alone this time. And I let West fuck me in a bathroom last night. Because that’s what it was, fucking. I got some enjoyment from it even if I didn’t get what I really craved, and he finished…so—yeah.
Nothing about this feels the same.
The door closes behind me with a soft thud, announcing my presence to anyone around. My heels click against the polished floor, each step pulling me closer to the sound spilling through the walls. Closer to them.
I round the corner and stop short, catching sight of them through the sound booth window.
Xayden sits behind his drum kit, his movements precise and fluid, the rhythm driving the song forward. Jake stands off to the side, his bass strapped across his chest, his fingers gliding over the strings as he adds a deep, steady pulse. Todd grips the mic stand, his voice raw and unfiltered as he belts out lyrics filled with heartbreak and venom.
West leans into his guitar, his fingers dancing over the frets, each note weaving through the others to create a melody that’s both haunting and alive. Then his voice joins Todd’s, smooth and rough, blending in perfect harmony.
The music is intoxicating, pulling me into its current. For a moment, I’m frozen, watching them in their element, the way they’ve always been when they’re together. It’s seamless, effortless—except for the way West’s jaw tightens as his eyes flick toward the glass and land on me.
My stomach drops. He might be fully clothed right now, but all I can see is him stepping back from me, his seed hitting the floor, the anger. Would it have been different if he believed me about not having a boyfriend? I don’t know. It doesn’t matter.
The music stumbles, falters, and dies. Todd’s voice cuts off mid-verse as his head snaps toward West. He follows West’s gaze to the glass and freezes. Then his eyes lock on me.
Jake’s bass hums for a heartbeat longer before fading into silence. His dark eyes meet mine, while Xayden’s drumming falters entirely. He sits back, sticks poised mid-air, his expression unreadable as his gaze zeroes in on me.
The silence that follows is deafening. Their collective attention bears down on me, a weight pressing against my chest, suffocating.
Forcing a calm expression onto my face, I take a slow breath, refusing to let my nerves show. The door to the booth creaks open, and one by one, they file out.
Todd is the first to approach, his movements precise, deliberate, each step a testament to the control he refuses to relinquish. His gaze is cold, guarded, but beneath the frost, I catch a flicker of something raw, something that cuts deeper than his words ever could. West trails behind him, slower, his face a mask of neutrality that doesn’t quite hide the shadows darkening his eyes. Jake and Xayden linger near the door, their postures tense, watchful, like predators sizing up a threat.
“What are you doing here?” Todd’s voice slices through the silence, the authority in it scraping against my already frayed nerves.
I quickly glance toward West, hoping for a hint of what he might be feeling. His face is calm, his eyes steady behind that unreadable mask. His scent—a subtle blend of smoky whiskey and almonds with vanilla—lingers around him, offering no clues to his inner state. I wonder if he’s as detached as he appears, if last night was just a calculated move on his part. The thought leaves me feeling a little off-balance.
I can’t handle it a second longer and pull my gaze away from him and back to Todd.
Todd’s fingers curl into fists at his sides at my continued silence. His words hang in the air between us as his musk seeps out of him. It reaches for me, warm amber and golden honey wrapping around me, soft and unyielding. Beneath the sweetness, sandalwood lingers, grounding and familiar, like the unshakable presence he used to be. It’s a scent that feels like home, one I’ve missed and mourned, even as his words try to remind me that the door has been locked.
I lift my chin, forcing myself to meet his glare. My voice doesn’t waver, even though everything inside me threatens to.“We have a meeting. You agreed to it yesterday—to discuss the collaboration for the show. You know, work?”
Todd lets out a humorless snort, his lips curling into a sneer. “Work? Is that what you were doing last night? With him?” He nods toward West, the bitterness in his tone slicing through the room like a blade.
Heat flushes my neck, but I refuse to look away. I guess that’s my answer. But I have nothing to be ashamed of. “Last night was a mistake. I don’t mix my private life with work.”
West steps closer, his movements deliberate, his presence magnetic. The air thickens as his whiskey-and-almond scent sweeps over me, heavy and intoxicating, dragging me back to the club and the choices I made. His voice, low and edged with a growl, cuts through the charged silence. “A mistake,” he repeats, his tone laced with mockery. “That’s what you’re calling it? Because I call it cheating. Guess you’re not as perfect as you pretend to be.”
