Cecilia’s pov
A cold numbness seeped into my chest, slowly smothering the warmth that had been there. I’d showered, changed into my sleep shorts, and settled into bed, determined to find so peace.
I closed my eyes and forced my breathing to even out, but the harder I tried to sleep, the more my thoughts--my lungs--were invaded by a certain devil I couldn’t seem to exorcise.
I flipped onto my side with an irritated huff.
Ti to set so ground rules, Cecilia. Rule number one: no more thinking about him! Tomorrow, my new motto would be Heart of Stone. Absolutely.
He was just a distractingly handso man who slled like trouble and expensive cologne and had shared my bed a handful of tis. Not worth a sleepless night. Not worth the ntal real estate.
I clutched my pillow tighter, adjusted into the perfect sleeping position.
Forty-eight minutes later...
My phone buzzed on the nightstand.
I shot bolt upright like soone possessed--eyes unfocused, hair wild, staring straight ahead at nothing.
After sitting motionless for several seconds, I slid out of bed, grabbed my car keys, and bolted for the door.
The restlessness inside had built to volcanic proportions, ready to erupt at any second.
If the door had taken even one more second to open, I might have kicked the damn thing off its hinges.
I shoved my way out the door, heels striking the floor with sharp, angry clicks, driven by a restless energy with no destination.
I was halfway to the elevator when I froze.
A shadow moved against the hallway wall.
Sebastian.
He was sitting on his suitcase, arms crossed, expression carved from stone and silence.
His gaze lifted to mine--cool and distant, like twilight stretched across snow.
Then, sothing shifted.
That chill in his eyes softened at the edges, like fog burning off under morning sun.
My internal volcano stilled--not gone, just... muted.
Sothing shifted again.
The air between us changed--crisper, lighter, like soone had just peeled an orange in a sun-ward room.
Stupid, how a scent, or the idea of one, could loosen my grip on anger.
I stood frozen, fingers tightening around my keys, my mood swinging so fast it gave emotional whiplash.
"Going sowhere?" Sebastian asked, his voice thick and raspy, like he’d been silent for hours.
I didn’t actually know where I was going. "I’m... just going for a drive."
Sebastian’s laugh was soft and knowing. "A drive. And here I thought you were planning to storm upstairs and commit ard robbery."
Stepping closer, I tried for casual. "When did you get here? Why didn’t you knock?"
Sebastian studied , the back of his hand grazing my cheek. "Because I was waiting for Cece to open the door for ."
His voice was a gentle, persistent pressure against defenses I’d left carelessly unlatched.
Before I could slam them shut and lock the steel shutters, he’d already lured to peek at the view--the most dangerous landscape in the world.
Flustered, I pulled his hand away. "I wasn’t--"
He cupped my face before I could say another word and kissed .
His lips were cool from the hallway air, but the heat that followed made forget everything else.
It was a quiet answer.
He had been waiting. Not knocking. Not pushing. Just... there.
And I didn’t know what broke more--his patience or his silence.
I struggled for a mont--then gave in.
My arms slowly wrapped around his back, absorbing his warmth and scent.
I was falling under this devil’s spell--scratch that, I’d already face-planted into it like an amateur.
We kissed in the doorway for what felt like forever.
When he showed no signs of stopping, I finally nipped his bottom lip. That did the trick.
He pulled back, eyes still heavy. "Still planning that dramatic midnight drive?"
"...Not anymore."
"I’m temporarily unhoused," he said solemnly. "Will you rescue ?"
"I guess I could shelter you for the couple nights before your business trip," I sighed, then added quickly,"Purely out of civic duty and humanitarian guilt. Not because I like you or anything."
"My Cece," he said, voice low and smug, "your sarcasm is my favorite love language."
He stroked the side of my neck, then stood from his makeshift suitcase-throne with a grunt. "Help in? I’ve lost all feeling from the waist down."
I slipped an arm around his waist, half-dragging the stubborn, overgrown man into my apartnt.
Eyeing his long legs, I muttered, "You think numb legs are bad? Your spine’s about to file a formal complaint."
"What was that?" he asked suspiciously.
I unceremoniously dropped him on the couch. "Nothing. Just saying this is what happens to people who loiter in hallways."
He gave a look.
Dragging his suitcase inside, I asked in my most diplomatic tone, "Couch or bed? Your call."
Translation: You’re staying the night, not applying for a lease.
Even if this is all pretend, I’m still managing the optics.
Sebastian eyed the couch like it had personally insulted his ancestors. "I’m allergic to sleeping on couches."
"Then I’ll take the couch and you can have the bed," I offered sweetly.
"I’m also allergic to sleeping without you."
"...Then don’t sleep at all."
I’ve already let you in--don’t try to upgrade your reservation, Roo.
He chuckled, low and smug. "Sleep is non-negotiable. I have early etings. I’ll take the couch--
but if I break out in hives, you’re legally required to nurse back to health."
I rolled my eyes and tugged my hand free. "I’ll get you pillows and a blanket. You can suffer in comfort."
After tossing him a throw and a pillow, I yawned dramatically. "I’m exhausted. Going to bed. You should shower. And try not to get any ideas."
With that, I retreated to my bedroom.
--
Morning arrived with the blaring of my alarm.
I groaned, rubbed my eyes, and sat up--ntally scrolling through potential breakfast options like I was building a sad little DoorDash order.
Sliding my feet into slippers, I shuffled toward the door.
The mont I opened it, sothing stopped .
The sll.
Coffee. Eggs. Toast. Sothing vaguely herby and delicious.
"Good morning. Wash up and co eat," a smooth male voice called out.
Only about 40% awake and still buffering, I turned toward the sound.
There, standing by the dining table’s floor-to-ceiling windows, was a man who looked like he’d stepped out of a lifestyle magazine shoot.
Tall, heartbreak-level handso, wrapped in crisp white loungewear that sohow made him look even more edible than the breakfast he’d made.
Sunlight poured over him like it was working overti.
Plates were arranged with the kind of care normally reserved for Michelin-starred Instagram posts.
My brain, still lagging behind, tried to process how I’d gone from "where’s the coffee?" to "am I in a Nancy yers movie?"
This wasn’t just dostic fantasy--it was delusion-level wish fulfillnt.
Ding-dong! Ding-dong!
And just like that, my rom-com morning was cut short by the front door ringing like a fire drill.
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