But Emily wrenched her hand free from his grip with a sharp tug, her eyes flashing. “I told you—I want to sleep here,” she snapped, voice sharp with defiance. “I’m not coming. I’m fine right here. You can sleep in that big bedroom alone. Isn’t that more comfortable for you anyway?”
Lucas’s glare darkened. His chest rose and fell a little too fast, and his hands flexed at his sides like he was holding himself back.
“Fine then,” he said, his voice like ice. “Sleep here. But don’t you dare crawl back into that bed later. Since you’re choosing to sleep alone, stick to it. Don’t come knocking when you can’t sleep without me.”
“Sure,” she muttered, not even sparing him a glance. She slid beneath the covers, turned her back to him, and shut her eyes like he wasn’t even in the room.
He stood there a beat longer, seething. His jaw twitched, nostrils flaring as his eyes burned into her. A muscle ticked in his cheekbefore he muttered a sharp curse under his breath, spun on his heel, and stormed out, his footsteps echoing through the hall. The bedroom door rattled in its frame as he slammed it shut behind him.
Back in his own room, Lucas paused just inside the doorway. The rage still simmered beneath his skin, but something softened as his hand reached for the lock. His fingers hovered above it… but stopped mid-air. He stared at the metal for a moment, jaw clenched, then drew his hand back and left the door slightly ajar.
“I’ll give you a little leeway. Since I love you,” he mumbled under his breath, dragging a hand through his hair and shaking his head, as if trying to shake off her latest tantrum.
Knowing Emily—this would pass. She never stayed mad long. She’d sneak in within minutes, crawl right into his arms begging for forgiveness and whining to reconcile. It was impossible for her to fall asleep without him wrapped around her.
He threw himself onto the bed, arms folded behind his head, eyes fixed on the ceiling fan turning lazily above. The minutes crawled by, each one louder than the last. Still, the door stayed unmoving. No soft footsteps. No familiar creak of the mattress. No scent of her vanilla shampoo filling the room.
He shifted on the bed, turning toward the slightly open door, expecting to catch her silhouette standing in the doorway, stubborn but ready to cave. But it was empty. Still.
He frowned. His chest started to feel heavy.
Another hour passed. The silence grew suffocating. He rolled to his side, squeezed his eyes shut, hoping sleep would come anyway—but it didn’t. His body refused to rest.
By three in the morning, Lucas sat upright, his legs over the edge of the bed. He rubbed a hand over his face, the agitation crawling beneath his skin now turning into something sharper.
Panic and anger churned in his gut.
The same woman who once couldn’t nap without clinging to him, who’d whine if he even turned his back on her—now didn’t even try to come to the room. Even when he’d left the door open for her.
He clenched his jaw, the muscles straining beneath his skin, and stood up abruptly. His chest ached with a strange, hollow thud.
‘Is she really that angry?’
He couldn’t sleep without her either. He had grown addicted—to the way she curled into him at night, her body pressed tight against his like she was meant to be there, her breath warm against his chest, her legs tangling with his, arms draped over him like a claim.
She wrapped around him like a second skin. Without her, the bed felt cold, too big, and suffocatingly empty.
With a frustrated sigh, Lucas shoved the door open and strode down the hallway. His bare feet were silent against the polished floor, but his pulse pounded like thunder in his ears. When he reached the guest room, he pushed the door open and stepped inside.
There she was.
Curled up under the blanket, her back to the door. One arm tucked beneath her head, the other wrapped around the pillow. Her breathing was deep and slow. Peaceful. Unbothered.
Lucas stood by the door, frozen. His gaze fixed on her face, watching the soft rise and fall of her chest.
His gaze softened just for a second, lingering on her face, the way her lashes kissed her cheeks. But then his brows drew together, his expression hardening again.
“This damn woman,” he muttered, voice hoarse and low. “She can even sleep without caring about me now?”
His hands clenched into fists at his sides, the veins along his forearms bulging. His chest rose and fell sharply, the silence in the room only amplifying the storm building inside him. His gaze flicked around.
The closet door was slightly ajar. Lucas’s brows pulled together.
He stepped closer and nudged it open—and froze. Inside, the clothes that used to hang beside his in perfect, everyday normalcy… were here. All of them. Her coats, her dresses, even the faded college hoodie she always wore on rainy nights.
His eyes narrowed, the tension in his jaw returning like a slow burn.
‘She moved out of the bedroom?’
