Page 53 of The Ache That Stayed

He swallowed, his Adam’s apple bobbing up and down, and slowly whispered:

“I’m sorry, Volpi.”

And my resolve folded like fucking paper.

“For leaving you,” he took another bite. “For hurting you.”

And then—he stood and walked toward the hallway.

Just like that. Like he hadn’t just detonated something inside my chest. Like he hadn’t just crawled across a room and set my nerves on fire.

Then just before disappearing into his room, he said with a cocky edge in his voice, “Goodnight, Volpi.”

I sat there, alone, long after the fire died.

My body still felt… wrong. Too aware. Too alive in places I didn’t want to name.

My knee still tingled where his nose had brushed it. My stomach dipped remembering the slow drag of his gaze.

My pulse refused to settle into anything resembling normal.

I hated it.

Hated that some part of me had gone soft watching him kneel. Hated that some part of me had felt powerful. Wanted. Seen in a way that had nothing to do with competence or control or being needed. Just… wanted.

That was dangerous. That was how women like me got broken. I forced myself up and walked back to my room. Forced myself under the blanket. Pulled it up to my chin like armour.

Closed my eyes. Sleep came slowly.

Uneven. And then—

Dark hallway.

A door that wouldn’t open.

My fingers slipping on the handle.

Someone breathing behind me. Too close.

The smell hit first. Sharp. Almost chemical. Something sour that burned the back of my throat.

My body wouldn’t move.

I tried to shout. Nothing came out.

The pressure of fingers digging into my jaw—

I woke choking on air.

My heart slammed against my ribs like it wanted out. The sheets were twisted around my legs, damp with sweat.

For a moment I didn’t know where I was.

Ireland. The cottage. The quiet house.

Not that hallway. Not that door.

I dragged a shaky breath and pressed the heels of my hands against my eyes until stars burst behind them.