“Noah? Noah, are you there?” Nothing, but silence.
I slide my hands slowly to my eyes and slowly grab the blindfold and slip it away from eyes, it takes a moment for my eyes to adjust to the low lighting, I blink and I am alone as if he was never here.
I can’t believe it. He forced himself into my ass and then just left and he expects me to marry him on Sunday.
He left like it had never happened but it did happen because I can feel the evidence between my legs.
Scarlett
Iwake to the feeling of eyes on me.
Not warm.
Not soft.
Not anything resembling the way a fiancé is meant to look at the woman he plans to marry.
Just… eyes.
Sharp.
Cold.
Flat as polished glass.
My lashes flutter before my brain fully catches up, and when I lift my head from the pillow, I see him sitting upright beside me, body perfectly still, sheets pooled around his waist as though he hadn’t slept at all.
He’s just watching me.
Not blinking.
Not moving.
Just observing me like I’m something pinned open beneath a microscope.
A soft, tentative smile tugs at the corner of my mouth before I can think better of it.
A peace offering.
A neutraliser.
A reflex I learned long before I should’ve needed it.
“Morning…” I whisper, voice rough with sleep.
He doesn’t answer.
Doesn’t soften.
Doesn’t even tilt his head.
Just keeps looking — dissecting, calculating, letting the silence stretch so thin it becomes a blade held to my throat.
My fingers curl into the sheets.
“You were…” My voice catches, but I force the words out. “…different last night.”
Still nothing.
