The faint hum of the city outside, the steady rhythm of Alessio’s breathing beside me, all of it feels louder in the silence that follows.
I lie tangled in the sheets, the warmth of his body still pressed faintly against my side.
My skin is still buzzing, my heart still racing, but it’s not just from the sex. It’s from everything that came before it. Everything he said. Everything I admitted. Everything we didn’t say.
I feel raw. Stripped down to the bone. Like he didn’t just touch my body, he cracked me open and saw all the pieces I’ve spent years hiding.
And now I don’t know what to do with the mess we’ve made.
Carefully, I shift out from under his arm and slide out of bed.
My legs feel unsteady, my chest tight with things I can’t name.
I find my sweatshirt and pull it on, needing something, anything, to cover myself. To feel like me again.
I pause at the door, glancing back at him.
He’s asleep. Peaceful. Beautiful.
Dangerous.
Because if I let myself stay, I’ll fall. And there’s no safety net at the bottom of this.
I slip down the hall and into the spare bedroom, closing the door behind me with a quiet click. I lean back against it, heart pounding, breath shallow.
That was a mistake.
It has to be a mistake.
We crossed a line we can’t uncross. And if I let myself believe it meant something, if I let myself want more… I’ll lose everything I’ve fought to rebuild.
But the memory of his hands on me, the sound of his voice saying, “You wreck me, Soph,” cling to me like smoke. Like a scar I’m not ready to heal.
And worst of all?
A part of me doesn’t want to.
I pull the sweatshirt tighter around me. Taking a deep breath, I open the door and head toward the kitchen for water, hoping the cold will shock me back into clarity.
But I stop in my tracks when I hear his voice.
Low. Clipped. Just past the hallway.
He’s awake.
I creep toward the sound, careful not to make a noise.
He’s standing with his back to me, shirtless again, phone pressed to his ear.
“No, she doesn’t know. And she won’t. Got it?”
I freeze.
My breath catches.
The tone isn’t familiar. It’s colder. Sharper. A version of him I haven’t met before.
My pulse pounds in my ears as I take a slow step backward, retreating into the shadows before he can see me.
