Isla had done everything right for three days.
She ignored his texts.
Dodged his calls.
Focused on work, took long showers, cleaned obsessively, and even tried meditating—which only lasted three minutes before her mind wandered back to him. To the way his lips had felt on her neck. To the way his voice had cracked slightly when he whispered her name.
She told herself it was over. A moment of madness. Nothing more.
But by the fourth night, alone in her dimly lit living room, with her second glass of wine in hand and soft jazz humming from the stereo, she let herself feel the silence—and it hurt.
The ache between her thighs hadn’t fully faded. The taste of Liam’s mouth still lingered like a secret. And her bed? It felt colder than it had in months.
She stared at her phone. The clock r
