BAD DECISIONS

Memories returned in jagged fragments—the bar lights, the slow music, the way his voice had wrapped around her name like a promise. Panic clawed its way up Liora’s chest as she jolted awake, her heart pounding violently against her ribs.

She lay still for a moment, staring at the unfamiliar ceiling, dread pooling in her stomach. Then she felt it—the warmth beside her, the solid presence of a body under the sheets.

Last night came crashing back in full force.

The man she had met only hours ago was still asleep beside her, his breathing deep and steady, completely unaware of the storm raging inside her. Liora sat up slowly, the blanket clutched tightly to her naked body as reality settled in.

They had slept together.

Worse—they hadn’t used protection.

Her breath hitched as the memory replayed: the heat, the urgency, the way they had been so caught up in each other that caution had slipped through their fingers. This wasn’t supposed to happen. She wasn’t supposed to lose control like that—not after everything.

“Stupid… stupid,” she whispered, burying her face briefly into the pillow.

She needed to leave. Now.

Carefully, she slid off the bed, wincing as her feet touched the cold floor. She gathered her dress from where it lay discarded, her movements hurried but quiet, her pulse loud in her ears. Her bag sat on the dresser, and she grabbed it like a lifeline.

Before stepping out, she paused.

Her gaze drifted back to the man on the bed—Ashvin. He looked different in sleep. Softer. Relaxed. For a brief second, her chest tightened at the memory of how incredible the night had felt, how safe she’d allowed herself to feel in his arms.

But courage failed her.

With one last look, Liora slipped out of the room.

The walk down to the bar felt unreal, like she was floating through someone else’s life. She exited the building without looking back, the morning air sharp against her skin.

Her phone buzzed in her hand.

The name on the screen made her blood boil—and her heart crack all over again.

Nathan.

The same name that once made her smile until her cheeks hurt now filled her with anger and aching disbelief.

Two days ago.

It had been a Tuesday afternoon when her world collapsed.

She had gone to his apartment with a box of cookies she’d baked, intending to surprise him. She remembered smiling as she approached his bedroom door—until she heard the sounds.

Moaning.

At first, denial kicked in. Maybe it was a movie. Maybe the sound wasn’t what she thought it was. But her heart had already begun to race as she pushed the door open.

The sight inside shattered her.

Nathan and Clara—her best friend—were tangled together on his bed, lost in heated passion. They hadn’t even noticed her at first. When they finally did, Nathan’s face drained of color, shock and shame flashing across his features.

Clara, however, only smirked.

No guilt. No surprise.

“Oh,” Clara had said casually, lips curling. “You’re here.”

The tears had come instantly. Blinding. Hot. Liora hadn't screamed or thrown anything—although she'd wanted to. Instead, she turned and ran, fleecing the apartment as if staying another second would kill her.

A loud car horn snapped her back to the present.

Her ride had arrived.

With trembling fingers, she blocked Nathan's number and switched off her phone before sliding into the back seat. As the car pulled away, she leaned her head against the window and let out a heavy sigh.

The audacity of him—to call after not even chasing her that day.

Clara hadn't called either. No apology. No explanation.

Why her? Why with her best friend?

The car eventually stopped in front of her parents' house. Liora stared at the familiar structure, dread curling tightly in her stomach. She checked the time and sighed. There was no avoiding them.

She knocked.

Mr. Ambrose opened the door, sympathy written all over his face. That alone told her today would not go well.

Inside, she immediately came face-to-face with her parents—both wearing scowls sharp enough to cut.

"Mother. Father. Good morning," she greeted quietly.

“Where the hell have you been?!” her mother snapped.

“I had wo—”

“Oh, shut up!” Her mother cut her off. "Don't you dare lie to us. Look at you—your hair, your clothes. You look like you whored yourself out to some man."

Liora stiffened.

She knew she shouldn't react. She knew they wanted one. But the way they looked at her—as if she were filth, not their daughter—broke something inside her.

The slap came without warning.

Pain exploded across her cheek, her head snapping to the side. The sting lingered, burning more than her skin. For a second, the room spun, and Liora tasted iron at the back of her throat. She steadied herself, fingers curling tightly into her palms. She had learned long ago that reacting only made things worse. Silence was safer. Silence was survival.

“How dare you raise your voice at me!” her mother shouted.

Liora forced the tears back. She refused to cry. She turned to her father, hoping—foolishly—for something. Anything.

He only folded his arms, disgust etched into his face.

“Tell us,” he said coldly. "Did he offer you money? What did he give you?"

Her heart cracked.

Two days ago, when she'd come home crying, they hadn't comforted her. They'd blamed her. Told her she wasn't enough. That she was probably the reason Nathan cheated. They didn't even let her say who he cheated with. Even if she did she doubted they would care.

No one had asked how she felt.

“Get out of our sight,” her mother said sharply. "Go clean yourself. You smell disgusting."

Liora nodded numbly and climbed the stairs.

Mr. Ambrose tried to say something, but she couldn't hear it. All she wanted was her room. A bath. Silence.

She unlocked her door—and froze.

Someone was sitting on her bed.

“Hi there,” Clara said, smiling sweetly.