“Take Care-Rihanna & Drake”
I wake up tangled in warmth that no longer exists.
For one beautiful, horrifying second, I swear Hayden was here.
The feeling of strong arms wrapped around me lingers like a phantom against my skin. My face is buried in my pillow, but the scent surrounding me isn’t detergent or lavender.
It’s him.
Smoke and Leather… Hayden.
My eyes snap open instantly, and I sit up too fast, searching the room frantically. “Hayden?” I call out but I’m greeted with silence.
Morning sunlight spills softly across my bedroom while my heart pounds in my chest. Tears burn my eyes as I press trembling fingers against my lips.
Because it didn’t feel like a dream.It felt real—too real.
My chest aches painfully remembering the way his voice sounded in my dream.
I’m right here, baby.
A shaky breath leaves me, and I look down, realizing I’m clutching his hoodie tighter than usual. Like someone tucked it back into my arms while I slept.
Goosebumps spread across my skin.
No. No. I’m losing my mind.
That has to be it.
But deep down… deep, deep down where my soul still belongs to Hayden Marks… I know he was here. I can feel it.
The realization both comforts and destroys me, because if he came here last night… why did he leave again?
A knock suddenly sounds against my door and I jump.
“Miss Ophelia,” Maggie calls gently. “Your father wants you ready for church in thirty minutes.”
Reality crashes over me like ice water.Church. Pretending. Smiling like my heart wasn’t ripped out of my chest less than twelve hours ago.
I wipe at my face before forcing myself out of bed and quickly rushing to the bathroom, slamming the door behind me.
Twenty minutes later, I sit at my vanity staring at my reflection in the mirror. The girl looking back at me barely looks alive.
Dark circles beneath swollen eyes. Skin pale. Lips bitten raw from crying.
Still… I paint on mascara. Curl my blonde hair. Pull on a soft, cream colored dress that reaches my knees.
The perfect daughter.
The perfect future wife.
The perfect little liar.
By the time I walk downstairs, my father is sitting at the kitchen island drinking coffee while reading the newspaper.
Calm. Composed. Untouchable.
The sight of him makes something ugly curl inside me now.
