CHAPTER 4: The Morning After

Bastian woke before the alarm.

He did not move immediately.

Something felt off.

Not loud. Not obvious. Just a shift in the room that did not belong to routine.

He opened his eyes slowly.

The ceiling came into focus first. Familiar. Unchanged.

Then the weight beside him.

Bastian stilled.

He turned his head.

There was someone in his bed.

For a second, he did not react. His mind ran through possibilities, fast and controlled.

Wrong apartment.

Drunk mistake.

Security breach.

None of them settled.

The woman lay on her side, facing away from him, half-covered by his sheets. Her breathing was slow, steady. Deep sleep.

Not tense. Not pretending.

That made it worse.

Bastian pushed the covers back and sat up.

Carefully.

He studied her.

Disheveled hair. No makeup. One hand tucked under her cheek like she had fallen asleep mid-thought.

Nothing about her suggested calculation.

That did not mean anything.

He swung his legs off the bed and stood.

“Hey.”

No response.

He tried again, firmer this time.

“Hey.”

She stirred slightly but did not wake.

Bastian exhaled once.

“Wake up.”

That did it.

Zara’s eyes opened slowly, unfocused at first.

For a second, she did not move.

Then awareness hit.

Not all at once. Piece by piece.

The ceiling.

The light.

The space.

She pushed herself up suddenly.

This was not her room.

Zara’s head snapped to the side.

And froze.

A man stood a few feet away, watching her.

Not confused.

Not startled.

Calm.

That made it worse.

Zara scrambled back, nearly tangling herself in the sheets as she tried to put distance between them.

“What—”

Her voice came out dry.

She cleared her throat.

“What is this?”

Bastian did not answer immediately.

He watched her.

Every movement. Every reaction.

“You tell me,” he said finally.

Zara blinked at him.

Her eyes darted around the room again, faster this time. Taking it in properly.

The layout.

The furniture.

The details she had ignored last night.

This was not a shared rental.

This was—

“Oh my God.”

The words came out under her breath.

She dragged a hand over her face, trying to force clarity into place.

“I’m in the wrong apartment.”

Bastian’s expression did not change.

“That’s not an explanation.”

Zara looked back at him quickly. “No, it is. I mean… it is. Just—”

She stopped.

“Give me a second.”

Bastian did not move.

Zara swung her legs off the bed, standing now, though she kept distance between them.

Her heart was still racing, but it was no longer panic.

It was focus.

“My friend booked me a place,” she said, forcing the words out clearly. “Last night. I just… I needed somewhere to stay.”

Bastian said nothing.

Zara reached for her phone on the bed and unlocked it quickly.

“I have the details,” she added, already scrolling. “Address, room number, everything. I followed it. I didn’t just walk into a random—”

She stopped talking as she found the message.

Her eyes moved across it.

Address.

Floor.

Room.

Zara frowned.

Then looked up.

“What floor is this?”

Bastian crossed his arms. “Fourth.”

Zara’s stomach dropped.

She looked back at her phone.

Second floor.

Room 204.

Her grip tightened slightly.

“I…” She let out a short breath. “I got the floor wrong.”

Silence.

Bastian studied her.

Zara looked up again, meeting his gaze properly this time.

“I didn’t know anyone was here,” she said. “It was dark. I just came in and went straight to sleep.”

“You didn’t notice anything?”

“No.”

The answer came too quickly.

Bastian held her gaze for a second longer.

“Convenient.”

Zara let out a quiet breath. “You think I did this on purpose?”

“I think people do things on purpose.”

“That’s not an answer.”

“It is for me.”

Zara shook her head.

“Why would I break into a random apartment just to sleep?” she asked. “That doesn’t make sense.”

Bastian tilted his head slightly. “You tell me.”

Zara stared at him.

Then she let out a small, humorless laugh.

“Right. Because this is normal. Waking up in a stranger’s bed.”

She dragged a hand through her hair, pacing once across the room before stopping.

“Look,” she said, turning back to him. “I’m sorry. Clearly I made a mistake. I’ll leave.”

She moved toward the door.

“Wait.”

Zara stopped.

Not because of the word.

Because of the tone.

She turned back slowly.

Bastian had not moved, but something in his posture had shifted.

“You said your friend booked it,” he said.

“Yes.”

“And you have proof.”

Zara held up her phone. “Yes.”

“Show me.”

She hesitated.

Then walked back, stopping just far enough to keep space between them.

She held out the phone.

Bastian took it.

His fingers brushed hers briefly. Zara pulled her hand back immediately.

He ignored it.

His attention stayed on the screen.

He read the message once.

Then again.

Zara watched him.

Bastian handed the phone back.

“This building has identical room numbers on each floor,” he said.

“I figured that out.”

“You didn’t check the floor.”

“I was tired.”

“That’s not a defense.”

“It’s not supposed to be.”

Silence stretched between them.

Bastian looked at her again.

Really looked this time.

Not just the situation.

Her.

The lack of sleep. The tension in her shoulders. The way her eyes held steady even when everything else suggested she was close to breaking.

Zara crossed her arms, suddenly aware of the way he was studying her.

“What?” she asked.

“Nothing.”

“That didn’t look like nothing.”

“It isn’t.”

She waited.

He did not explain.

Zara exhaled slowly. “Can I go now?”

Bastian did not answer immediately.

He glanced toward the door.

Then back at her.

“You said you needed somewhere to stay.”

Zara stilled slightly.

“That’s not your problem.”

“No,” he said. “It isn’t.”

Another pause.

Then, “How long?”

Zara frowned. “What?”

“How long do you need?”

She blinked.

“I’m not staying here,” she said.

“You don’t have anywhere else.”

“That’s still not—”

“Three days.”

Zara stopped.

“What?”

“You can stay for three days,” Bastian said. “Enough time to fix your booking or find somewhere else.”

Zara stared at him.

“That doesn’t make sense,” she said slowly. “You don’t know me.”

“I know enough.”

“That’s not reassuring.”

“It’s not meant to be.”

She let out a breath.

“I don’t need—”

“Yes, you do.”

The interruption was quiet.

Firm.

Zara closed her mouth.

Bastian held her gaze.

“No questions,” he added. “No assumptions. You stay out of my way. I stay out of yours.”

Zara hesitated.

Every instinct told her to refuse.

To leave.

But another thought pressed in.

You don’t have anywhere else.

She looked at the door.

Then back at him.

“Three days,” she repeated.

“Three.”

“No extensions.”

“No extensions.”

Silence.

Zara nodded once.

“Fine.”

Bastian inclined his head slightly.

Then he turned away.

Conversation over.

Zara stood there for a second longer.

Still unsure how she had agreed to any of this.

Still unsure who he was.

But too tired to fight it.

Three days.

That was all.

It would be enough.

It had to be.