I crash into my bed, not taking his hoodie off so I can fall asleep to his scent.
?
My hair is still a bit damp from the shower, but I have no time to dry it properly. My head is spinning with a hangover,and I can’t even put my mascara on straight. I do a quick natural makeup look and run back to my room to grab my work bag when I hear a car under my window.
Of course he’s really here.
I would genuinely appreciate at least one day to emotionally process how much I humiliated myself when I couldn’t even walk in my own shoes. I think I’m gonna do a shot at work just to survive this. A coffee shot.
I run down the stairs and step out the front door.
He’s leaning against his car, arms crossed, like he’s been there for a while.
The second I step outside, one of his hands flies up to his face, covering his eyes dramatically. I bite back a laugh and stop right in front of him.
He reaches out like he’s trying to blindly locate me, one hand still covering his eyes, the other lands on my waist, fingers curling there as if he has to guess who he’s touching.
“I hope it’s you and not your mom, that would be a little inappropriate,” he finally says.
I laugh under my breath, still processing his audacity. His grip on my waist tightens, and he pulls me in so fast our bodies collide, and before I can even register it, his lips are on mine.
I wonder if he can feel that my legs have fully given up once more.
He lets me go slowly, and I pull back, stunned. He immediately slaps his hand back over his eyes and, with his other hand, opens the passenger door for me.
He’s being ridiculous.
And of course, I’m completely falling for this gentleman act.
I slide into the seat, unable to take my eyes off him as he walks around the front of the car.
He looks so happy. The brightness of it feels out of place against everything else about him—that usual, unreadable edge.
He gets in without a word and starts the car, his gaze fixed anywhere but on me. I bite back a smile, sinking into the seat instead.
“How are you feeling? Headache, bellyache, regret?” He adds the last word softer, like he’s bracing for impact.
“Hungover, sleep-deprived, and emotionally compromised. Thank you very much.”
His cocky smile widens as he tries to keep his eyes on the road, like he’s proud of being the reason.
This is so… nice. I feel so taken care of. I’ve never felt like this before.
Kiara
Present
I sit on the sofa, legs curled under me, staring at the steam rising from my coffee like it’s supposed to give me answers.
Two days.
Two days of not seeing either of them, and my brain is peeling itself apart, replaying the same ten minutes of that night.
Adrien’s voice echoing somewhere deep inside the manor—cocky, annoyed, familiar. And then he was there. Kasien. His back. Broad. Motionless. Like he’d been carved out of shadow. Black hair, still messy, brushing his neck. That oversized T-shirt doing absolutely nothing to hide how much bigger he is than six years ago. And his hands. Jesus. Those hands. Melted skin following the lines of his fingers. My sanctuary once. Now just another reminder that I don’t know this version of him at all. Those green eyes hit me for a single second—soft, startled—before they went dead black. Like shutters slamming down.
My lungs forgot how to work again.
Does he hate me? Probably.
