Cecilia’s pov
The horror movie credits rolled across my screen, casting a ghostly blue glow over the walls and my unmade bed.
I’d picked sothing especially grueso--the kind where good-looking people make stupid choices and wind up dead in increasingly creative ways.
It was mindless, bloody, and loud--exactly what I needed.
Sohow, watching all that blood and screaming made my own ss feel...manageable. Predictable, even.
At least their horror had rules. Mine didn’t.
I scrolled through the recomnded titles, a blur of bloodied faces and ominous fonts.
None of them worked for . Just jump scares and screaming won, fear dressed up for Halloween.
I closed the app and set the screen facedown on the bed.
The light vanished, and for the first ti tonight, the quiet crawled in around .
My phone lay untouched on the nightstand, screen dark.
I told myself I was only checking the ti.
9:07 PM.
The location-sharing icon caught my eye, glowing faintly in the corner.
Sebastian and I had exchanged access weeks ago--a "safety thing," he’d said. Just protocol. Nothing personal.
I rarely looked.
But tonight, my thumb hovered.
Don’t do it. Don’t be that person.
I tapped anyway.
The map took a few seconds to load, centering on a neighborhood far from central London.
Not a restaurant. Not a business district.
A private residence.
My breath caught. He’d gone straight there after leaving the house. No detours. No stops.
He went straight to soone’s ho.
I told myself that was enough. Curiosity satisfied.
But it didn’t feel satisfying. It felt like ice settling in my stomach.
With deliberate fingers, I opened my settings and turned off location sharing.
One-sided disconnection. Petty, maybe. But it made feel like I had a say.
I tossed the phone onto the bed and pulled the covers higher, as if cotton and silence could shield from the truth I didn’t want to admit.
At 10:30 PM, I heard the sound of tires on wet pavent pulling into the drive.
Monts later, I heard his footsteps in the hallway.
I lay still beneath the duvet, pretending to sleep, heart pounding far too loudly for soone who wasn’t waiting.
His steps slowed as he passed my door, and for a mont, I thought he might stop.
He didn’t knock.He didn’t speak.
After a pause that felt longer than it was, his footsteps moved on--back to his room, back to silence.
I stared at the ceiling, wide awake, the quiet pressing in like a weight I couldn’t shake.
--
Morning arrived with London’s signature gray light filtering through the curtains. I’d set my alarm for seven, determined to maintain so semblance of routine.
I dressed carefully--nothing that suggested I’d given yesterday’s events a second thought. Black tailored pants, a crisp white blouse, hair swept into a neat bun. A uniform of detachnt, perfectly assembled.
Satisfied with my appearance, I headed downstairs, hoping to grab breakfast before anyone else was up.
The mont I stepped into the dining room, I realized my mistake.
Sebastian sat at the table, newspaper folded beside his plate, cup of black coffee steaming in front of him.
Already dressed in a charcoal suit that likely cost more than my monthly salary, his dark hair still damp from the shower.
He looked like he belonged on the cover of a business magazine, not sitting in a kitchen at dawn.
"Good morning," I offered, voice carefully calibrated to professional pleasantness.
"Morning." His eyes lifted to et mine, expression unreadable. "You’re up early, Miss Moore."
Miss Moore. Like we hadn’t nearly set the house on fire with our argunt last night.
The formality stung more than it should have.
"As are you, Alpha," I replied, a half-smile not reaching my eyes. The effort of maintaining appearances already felt exhausting, and the day had barely begun.
Tomorrow I’ll set my alarm for five AM, I thought pettily. Beat him to the kitchen, beat him to everything.
Sothing in my expression must have betrayed , because Sebastian’s mouth curved slightly.
"I could sleep in tomorrow," he said, as if reading my thoughts. "No need for you to wake at dawn."
"That would be appreciated," I agreed, the tension easing marginally.
Sebastian nodded and returned to his breakfast, the conversation apparently concluded.
I was selecting fruit from the sideboard when his phone rang, the sound sharp in the quiet room.
Despite myself, my eyes flicked toward the device lying screen-up beside his plate.
A na flashed across the display: Evelyn.
Of course. Already calling first thing in the morning. Probably still wearing last night’s perfu and lipstick he hadn’t had ti to wash off. Their reunion must have been quite the event.
As he reached for the phone, his gaze snagged on mine--brief, but sharp.
A flicker of sothing passed between us before I blinked and looked away.I dropped my gaze, feigning interest in the pastry tray like it held state secrets.
My hand hovered above a croissant, fingers stiff with indecision, like I was choosing a side in a quiet war.
The silence pulsed between us, brittle and thin, like glass stretched too far. I didn’t need to look to know he was still watching .
Then, casually--too casually--he extended the still-ringing phone toward .
"Would you like to answer it for ?"
The casual offer landed like a slap.
Without a word, I grabbed my plate and coffee cup, turned on my heel, and walked out of the dining room.
The soft clink of ceramic against ceramic was the only sound I allowed myself.
His eyes burned into my back the entire way.
I didn’t turn around.
If I had, I might have said sothing I couldn’t take back.
I set the plate down in the kitchen harder than I ant to. The fork rattled against the edge.
I sat and cut into the sausage--neatly, thodically--until it looked like shrapnel.
Singapore had an old fla. London had Evelyn. He really didn’t waste ti.
And ? I was just the layover. The easy one.
The anger didn’t last. It never did.
He’d always been the one pushing forward. I was always halfway out the door.
Now he’d stopped. Maybe he was tired.
Honestly? That might be for the best.
Reviews
All reviews (0)