64. Morning After The Bar.

Rose POV

I woke up slowly.

Not the calm kind of waking where your mind stretches gently into the day, but the heavy one. The kind where your head feels thick, your body feels slow, and your thoughts come in pieces instead of full sentences.

The first thing I noticed was the light.

Morning light.

It pushed through the thin space between my curtains, pale and quiet, touching the wall, touching the floor, touching my face. I groaned softly and turned my head away from it.

My head hurt.

Not sharp pain. Not screaming pain. Just a dull, uncomfortable ache, like my skull was reminding me that I had made bad choices the night before.

I squeezed my eyes shut and breathed out.

“Again,” I whispered to myself.

I stayed still for a moment, letting my body catch up with my mind.

Then it hit me.

I was in my bed.

My own bed.

I opened my eyes fully this time and looked around the room.

My room.

The small bedroom I had rented after moving to this city. The white walls. The small dresser by the window. My bag resting on the chair where I always dropped it. Everything was exactly where it should be.

I swallowed.

Slowly, carefully, I sat up.

How did I get home?.

The duvet slid down my body, and instinctively, my hands moved to check myself.

I froze.

I checked again.

My clothes were still on.

Nothing torn.

Nothing missing.

Nothing wrong.

My heart, which had started racing without my permission, slowly calmed.

I let out a breath I didn’t realize I was holding.

“I’m fine,” I muttered. “You’re fine.”

I leaned back against the headboard and closed my eyes again, trying to remember.

Bits and pieces came back.

The bar.

The drinks.

The way my body had felt light and heavy at the same time.

And then...

Him.

Damien.

My eyes snapped open.

I sat up straighter.

Damien.

I remembered his face. His voice. The way he had looked at me like he was trying to figure me out instead of flirt with me.

I remembered drinking with him.

I remembered laughing.

I remembered feeling dizzy.

And then...

Nothing.

I pressed my fingers to my temples.

“He carried me,” I whispered.

That part came back clearly.

I remembered his arms around me. Strong. Steady. Like I weighed nothing at all.

I remembered my head resting against his chest.

I remembered thinking how strange it was that I felt safe.

My stomach tightened.

“But how did you know where I live?” I asked the empty room.

I hadn’t told him.

I was sure of it.

I didn’t remember giving directions.

I didn’t remember unlocking the door.

I didn’t remember anything after leaving the bar.

And yet here I was.

In my bed.

In my room.

Safe.

Untouched.

That realization confused me more than if something had been wrong.

I swung my legs over the side of the bed and sat there, staring at the floor.

“Stop it,” I told myself quietly. “You’re overthinking.”

I stood up slowly, my body still heavy, and walked to the mirror.

My reflection stared back at me.

Messy hair.

Tired eyes.

A face that looked older than it had a few months ago.

I sighed.

“You need to stop drinking,” I said to my reflection.

The words felt familiar.

Too familiar.

“That’s how it started before,” I continued. “That’s how you got tangled in Adrian’s world.”

The name hit me harder than I expected.

Adrian.

My chest tightened instantly.

I hadn’t meant to think about him.

I hadn’t wanted to.

I had tried so hard not to.

I turned away from the mirror and walked back to the bed, sitting down slowly.

Why was it so hard to let go?

He had told me he didn’t love me.

He had said it clearly.

Coldly.

I swallowed.

“And yet here you are,” I whispered. “Still thinking about him.”

My phone suddenly rang.

I flinched.

The sound cut through my thoughts like a knife.

I stared at the phone where it lay on the bedside table.

It rang again.

My heart started beating faster.

Slowly, I reached for it.

The screen lit up.

Damien.

My fingers hesitated over the screen.

Why was he calling me?

I cleared my throat and answered.

“Hello?” I said, my voice rough from sleep.

There was a short pause.

Then his voice came through the phone.

“Why aren’t you at work?”

His tone was different.

Not playful.

Not curious.

Formal.

Firm.

My eyes widened.

Work.

My stomach dropped.

I jumped to my feet.

“Oh my God,” I said, panic flooding my chest. “I—I forgot.”

“You forgot,” he repeated calmly.

“I just got the job,” I rushed out. “I—I overslept. I’m so sorry, I—”

“You have one hour,” he said, cutting me off smoothly.

I stopped talking.

“One hour to be here,” he continued. “I’m being nice.”

Then the line went dead.

I stared at my phone.

My heart was pounding.

An hour.

I looked around the room wildly.

“I’m so dead,” I muttered.

I dropped the phone on the bed and rushed toward the bathroom.

As I reached the door, one thought echoed loudly in my mind.

How does Damien know so much… and why does that scare me more than it should?

I pushed the bathroom door open and stepped inside.

I didn’t have time to think.

Not now.