Cecilia’s pov
I woke slowly, my head fuzzy and pounding just enough to make hate myself.
The ceiling above wasn’t familiar.
This wasn’t my room.
Panic flared, sharp and imdiate.
Before I could do more than grip the sheets tighter, I heard footsteps.
I turned my head--and nearly choked.
Sebastian stepped out of the walk-in closet, fully dressed in a deep navy three-piece suit that looked like it had been tailored by a god and paid for in blood.
He looked like he belonged on the cover of GQ, not in the sa room as --bed-headed, hungover, and very much wearing nothing but a robe.
Wait.
Scratch that. I was the one in the robe.
A thick, plush hotel-grade one that definitely wasn’t mine.
"...Morning," I croaked, my voice embarrassingly rough.
"Morning," he replied, calm as ever.
"You got drunk at the party last night. Then threw up in your room. I moved you here--yours needed a, let’s say, biohazard-level cleaning."
I blinked. Twice. My brain was still slogging through molasses.
"Oh. Right. Great."
He nodded toward the closet. "Your clothes are in the dressing room."
I nodded back, slow and chanical, like soone who had absolutely no mory of agreeing to be moved.
Things had been tense between us when we parted last night. And now... this?
, in his robe. In his bed. In his room.
He studied for a beat--, half-sitting in his bed, swamped in his robe like I was starring in a post-scandal tabloid photo shoot.
"If you’re still feeling rough, take the day off."
"No need," I said way too fast. "I’m good. Totally fine."
"Alright." He adjusted his cufflinks. "I’ll head out first. Take your ti."
"Yeah. Sure. Yep. Will do." I nodded like a bobblehead on a bumpy road.
Only after I heard the door click shut did I exhale loudly.
The kind of exhale that cos when your soul tries to re-enter your body after montary flight.
What the actual hell happened?
I sat up slowly, head still swimming, and then--
The robe shifted.
I froze.
I was naked under it.
As in, completely, no-underwear, no-bra, no-hope naked.
My heart tried to punch its way out of my chest.
Did we...?
No. That couldn’t be.
I didn’t feel sore, or wrecked, or that deliciously ruined feeling from our usual recklessness.
So why had he undressed ?
Or worse--who had?
I yanked the robe tighter, like I could cinch it around my dignity.
Bits and pieces started to co back--herbal broth, imaginary snacks...
And then--
Oh God.
Oh no.
OH. MY. GOD.
The next ten minutes were spent reliving every mortifying detail in excruciating high-definition--feeding him imaginary food, pulling his hair, throwing up on him, making him give a bath, and then... that kiss.
Those kisses.
The kind that lt your spine and short-circuit your brain. The kind romance novels warn you about because they lead to very bad, very naked decisions.
And just when I thought it couldn’t get worse, I’d begged him to stay.
Like, stay-stay. Like, "make bad decisions with " stay.
And he had.With his hands.With his mouth.
I face-planted into the pillow and groaned like a dying animal.My soul was trying to exit my body out of sheer secondhand embarrassnt.
Who even says "I have treats for you" like they’re offering themselves as dessert?
I’d propositioned him like a drunk raccoon, and he’d responded with... devastating patience.
I stared at the ceiling like it might erase the past ten hours.
Maybe I could fake amnesia.
Yes. Alcohol-induced mory loss. Totally plausible.
If I played it cool and acted like I didn’t rember a damn thing, there was a chance I’d survive this.
The invincible Cecilia Moore pulled herself together.
I climbed out of bed, still wrapped in the blanket like a traumatized burrito, and shuffled to the dressing room to find my clothes.
Then I spotted the drawer.
The one where Sebastian had arranged my underwear by color gradient.
My brain instantly flashed back to the mont I’d grabbed his hand, breathless, demanding he not stop.
And then--asking for more.
I stood there like a statue while my reflection mocked from the vanity mirror.
"It’s fine," I muttered to myself. "We’re... familiar. It’s not a big deal. Totally survivable."
I got dressed quickly, deliberately ssing up his perfectly organized drawer on my way out -- a petty revenge for emotional damage.
Downstairs, I was the last to arrive.
The breakfast table was unusually full.
Sebastian had already finished eating but lingered behind a newspaper.
Sawyer and Tang were still eating.
"Morning," I greeted, trying to sound like a functioning adult and not a walking ball of sha.
I slid into my seat like a criminal into a courtroom, eyes firmly glued to my plate.
The toast in front of beca my entire personality. If I stared hard enough, maybe it would transport to another dinsion.
"Cecilia!" Tang bead, scooting his chair dramatically closer.
Too close. Dangerously close.
"Do you want a baby?"
"--Cough!--" I choked violently on my coffee, nearly launching it out my nose.
I looked up, ready to shut that nonsense down with the full force of denial--
only to find Tang staring at with bright, terrifying sincerity.
Before I could recover, he added cheerfully,
"Alpha Sebastian wants a baby too, right? Maybe you two should just--team up!"
There was a long, stunned pause.
Across the table, I heard Sawyer’s spoon clatter against his bowl like a gunshot.
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