Chapter 6 ✨Lyra

The sound of an alarm jolts me out of my sleep. Half-asleep, I search around blindly for my phone to shut it off. When I reach it and realize it isn’t vibrating, my eyes snap open.

This isn’t my alarm.

I sit up so fast my head spins.

Where am I?

I turn on the bedside lamp, and only then do I calm down. I’m in Serena’s room. I exhale shakily and reach for the table clock, switching it off.

“Serena,” I call out once. Then again.

No answer.

Maybe she’s gone for her morning run.

I plug my phone in, and almost immediately, a notification pops up from Serena.

You drunk ass girl. You said you wouldn’t be drinking again. And what happened last night that had my dad bringing you home?

I drop my phone like it just burned me.

“Oh my God,” I screech.

Memories rush in, disjointed and sharp. I remember entering The Olive Bar. Sitting with Soren. Laughing.

After that?

….Nothing.

“I’m becoming irresponsible. Reckless,” I mutter to myself.

I FaceTime Serena, mumbling half-explanations while she fills me in on her date with Lucas and how well it went.

After the call, I brush my teeth and take a shower, letting the water calm my nerves. I slip into a silk night shirt and shorts before heading downstairs to make some coffee and something quick to eat before going back to sleep.

Thank God no one is here.

Most importantly….Soren.

“He’s no longer Mr. Blackwell?” I shake the thought away and focus on what I’m doing.

Within fifteen minutes, I have toasted bread, scrambled eggs, and coffee ready. I bring a plate down to serve myself, stepping back slightly…and the plate I used to whisk the eggs slips from behind and shatters on the floor.

“I hope no one heard that,” I whisper.

I crouch to clean up the mess, but a sharp sting slices through my finger.

“Ah…” I hiss.

“What are you trying to do?”

I flinch.

I don’t need to see him to know who it is. His voice is deeper, rough with sleep.

“I…I was trying to make breakfast,” I stutter. “The plate fell and… broke.”

He walks closer, and I start fidgeting.

“Come out of there. Let me do it,” he says sharply, guiding me away from the shards.

“But…”

“I don’t like repeating myself,” he cuts in. “Sit down.”

I do. I’ve done enough damage already.

“Why is there blood on the floor?” he asks, already moving toward me. “Did you cut yourself?”

He takes my hand without waiting for permission, muttering, “Clumsy girl,” before walking off to get the first aid kit.

Only then do I really see him.

Just briefs. Bare chest. Tattoos. Sleep-disheveled and devastating.

My mouth goes dry.

I try not to look. I fail spectacularly.

God really does have favorites.

“What?” he asks.

I freeze.

I definitely said that out loud.

I focus hard on his face. At least his face is safe.

“This will sting,” he says.

“Mmm,” I reply before I can stop myself.

“Ouch,” I hiss, pulling my hand back but he brings it to his lips and blows gently before securing the plaster.

His eyes lift to mine.

Then they drift down my body. Slowly. Deliberately.

The air thickens. My body leans toward him before my mind can catch up.

He exhales sharply….like someone losing a fight.

Then he pulls away suddenly, like touching me is dangerous. Like staying one second longer would ruin him.

His jaw tightens. His eyes are dark. Conflicted.

“I’m sorry,” he mutters.

And then he leaves…..fast, like he’s running from something.

Or someone.

I sit there, breathing hard, my body still angled toward where he stood. Still aching. Still wanting.

I abandon the food and rush upstairs to get dressed.

Because if I stay any longer,

I don’t know which one of us will break first.