Morning arrived like a stranger.
Cold.
Unwelcome.
Too bright for what the night had been.
I opened my eyes slowly, afraid of what I would see… or not see. My fingers brushed the empty space beside me, sheets already cool, pillow untouched since he rose. Chase had left the bed hours before dawn. There was no trace of him except the faint warmth fading from the mattress and the ache blooming in my chest.
For a moment, I lay still, staring at the ceiling where we had stared together last night—silent, shaken, changed. Everything around me felt different, as if the room remembered what we had done even if he wanted to pretend it never happened.
My throat tightened painfully.
Had it been a mistake?
Had I misread everything?
Had the storm and the tension and the months of longing pushed
