NIKOLIA
I DON’T KNOW why I cared.
Claude wasn’t my responsibility. He wasn’t anything to me. But when he flinched yesterday—when I saw that flicker of fear in his eyes—I wanted to rip apart whoever put it there.
I’d never felt this way before. Never.
The partners in my life had always been transactional. I gave them what they wanted, took what I needed, and left it at that. No questions. No complications. No strings. Yet here I was, lying in bed, the early morning light bleeding through the curtains, thinking about him.
His breathing filled the room—slow, steady, but not the kind of calm you’d expect from someone still asleep.
“I know you’re awake, Claude.” My voice cut through the silence, and I heard the subtle shift of sheets as he tensed.
I turned my head toward him,
