Mara
I wandered to the corner, searching for something simple. Something I could breathe in. That’s when I found it—an oversized, faded black T-shirt, tucked in like someone had forgotten it. It smelled like cinnamon.
Lucian.
He hadn’t meant for it to be left there. But it was.
The front door closed in the distance.
He was gone.
I held the shirt to my chest for a moment before slipping it on. Paired it with a white lace panty, because everything else in that dresser screamed seduction, and I had no intention of playing that game.
I left the closet and walked into the bathroom. It was sleek, minimalist, shared. No division, just an arch that led into the second room—his space.
It was plain. Stripped down. The bed smaller, the furniture sparse. Functional. Clean. It was nothing like
