80

THEA

I am fine.

I say it out loud. I say it in my head. I even say it on the phone.

“I’m fine, really.”

I am not fine.

My body is sore in ways I didn’t know existed. Strange right? Afterall, I haven't done shit except lift my body for the past twenty four hours. My son has been bathed and packed off to school by nurse Janet who now basically owns both of us, and Ezra hasn’t shown up in twenty-four hours.

Twen. ty. Four. Hours.

A whole day.

Not a text. Not a call. Not a pigeon with a note tied to its leg.

But sure.

I’m fine.

“Are you sure?” Sabrina from HR says, voice syrupy with concern. “It’s just... Mr. Harrington requested a week of leave on your behalf and I—well, I just wanted to check in and see how you’re holding up.”

I freeze.

A what?

A WEEK?

My fingers curl around the blanket so tightly the hospital cotton groans in protest.

“He what?”

“Applied for a one-week leave,” she chirps. “Said you’d need the time to rest and recuperate. And of course, we completely understand. Just wanted to check in to know if it isn't too critical.”

I close my eyes and picture Ezra’s face.

Smug. Calm. Capable. Decisive. The kind of man who cancels a woman’s calendar and then informs her like he’s doing her a favour.

I inhale through my nose and answer with a tight smile she can’t see. “That’s very thoughtful. But I’ll be fine.”

“You sure?”

No.

“Yes,” I say, sharper than intended. “Thank you for calling.”

“Alright. Please stay safe, Thea.”

The moment I hang up, I let out a long, dramatic sigh that would win awards if anyone was watching.

A week.

A whole seven days of utter stillness? Noooooooo.

The silence closes in, smug and loud. And for a minute, I just sit there, glaring at the ceiling like it owes me rent.

Then, I glance to my right.

And there it is.

The only good thing about today.

Devil’s Muse.

A thick, absolutely sinful romance novel I pulled from the stack of books Janet got from the hospital library. The kind that has zero shame and maximum plot twists. The kind that doesn’t ask me to heal or forgive myself or do the inner work. No. This book asks me to shut up and watch the enemies-to-lovers pair absolutely ruin each other emotionally and then physically—with very vivid, very illegal levels of detail.

And I was right there.

Right at the part where the morally grey villain lifts her onto the desk and says, “You think you can tempt the devil and not burn?”

Right at the fwop fwop.

Right at the good stuff.

And Sabrina called.

I stare at the book like a betrayed lover.

I flip it open again, trying to find my place—where were we? Ah yes. Desk. Buttons flying. Hands everywhere. The kind of scene that requires full silence, no distractions, and possibly a fan.

And now?

Now I’m seething and aroused and emotionally abandoned all before 10 a.m.

Excellent.

I sink into the pillow with a huff, muttering under my breath. “I swear, if one more person checks in on my healing, I will break this IV stand and use it to stab…”

The villain's hands are now tangled in her hair, his lips pressed against her neck as he sucks softly, trailing kisses down her neck.

He's saying things no real man should get away with but with that cold dominance?

Hot.

And stupid.

And maddeningly hot.

My skin prickles.

I tug the blanket close to my chest but that only makes it worse. Too warm. Too suffocating. My legs shift beneath it, my thighs pressing together.

God.

I'm so horny.

I blink hard, trying to focus on the words again as my hand slips underneath the blanket to my gown and between my thighs, giving myself a light flick.

I bite my lip to keep my moans in.

God. I wish he's here.

His hands are on her hips now. His mouth near her ear. That possessive growl that makes her breath catch and her spine curve.

Mine does too.

Stupid…

Because I couldn't picture the male lead's face like every other scene I've read.

Instead, it's his face.

His hand on my hips. His fingers instead of mine.

I shut my eyes tightly as I slip a finger in and out, my body growing hotter, my breath shallow and quick.

His face lingers in the darkness behind my eyelids. That piercing stare. That quiet, commanding way he says my name when no one else is around.

The sound of my own breathing fills the room, shaky and desperate. My back arches. The book almost drops but I hold it tighter like an anchor. Every nerve ending feels awake, like I’ve been plugged into something I can’t unplug from.

It’s not just the act.

It’s the memory.

The way he looked at me that night—like I was the only thing he wanted to worship and ruin at the same time. The way his voice dipped, slow and low, when he said I deserved more than pain.

I pretend it’s his hand.

His mouth.

That he’s the one pressing kisses down my throat. That it’s his voice whispering, “You’ve been running so long, Thea. Let me be the one place you stop.”

A broken moan slips past my lips. I bite down on it, hard, and squeeze my eyes tighter.

God, what is wrong with me?

I shouldn’t be doing this. Not here. Not now. Not with him in my head like a ghost that won’t leave.

But my body doesn't care about logic.

My body just wants to feel. Anything. Something. Him.

Another breath. Another roll of my hips beneath the sheet. And just when I feel myself tipping closer—

The door opens.

I snap the book shut so fast the fwop fwop becomes a THWACK, nearly hitting myself in the face.

That's when everything comes flooding in.

The loud beeping of the heart monitor.

Shit shit shit.

The loud beeping echoes continuously like a crime scene alarm, and I’m not even being dramatic.

Okay, I am.

But still.

Nurse Janet’s eyes widen as she rushes to the monitor, another nurse in tow, her sensible shoes squeaking against the linoleum.

“Are you alright?” she asks, pressing a few buttons with a calm panic that tells me she’s trying not to freak me out.

Spoiler alert: too late.

“Fine!” I blurt, my voice about three octaves too high. “I’m—uh—just startled. The book. I…” I gulp.

Janet eyes me.

Then eyes the book.

Then eyes the suspicious way I’m clutching the blanket like I’m about to confess to arson.

The new nurse, bless her soul, looks completely lost but nods sympathetically, like she too has once been personally victimized by chapter twenty-six of a romance novel.

“You sure?” Janet asks again, slowly, like she’s talking to a nervous raccoon holding a taser.

I nod so hard my neck clicks. “Mhm. Just... literary tension.”

“Oh.” Her voice softens. “Was it a sad part?”

Why does that sound sarcastic?

I blink. My entire body is on fire, my dignity is circling the drain, and my clit is currently throbbing in complain.

“Something like that,” I say weakly.

She presses a few more buttons, murmurs something about blood pressure, and then, like the cherry on top of my humiliation sundae, glances at my flushed face and says, “Your heart rate spiked quite a… bit. Probably just hormones.”

Hormones.

Yes.

That’s it.

Definitely not Ezra-induced sexual frustration mixed with a smut cliffhanger and poor impulse control.

“Exactly,” I mumble.

She gives me a soft smile and pats my shoulder. “Well, let’s just take it easy. Deep breaths. Maybe something lighter to read, hmm?”

I nod, passing him the book while I wave at the others.

“Something lighter or a crime documentary please.”

As they leave, the door clicking shut behind them, I stare at the ceiling in pure, mortified silence.

Then I groan.

Loudly.

I roll onto my side, burying my face in the pillow.

“I am going to die in here.”

Of embarrassment.

Of sexual tension.

Of sheer, soul-consuming regret.

Of anger.