CHAPTER 7

THE MORNING AFTER

When I wake, the first thing I feel is warmth. His warmth. His arm is still draped over my waist, heavy and steady, like it never moved through the night. My face is pressed against his chest, my legs tangled with his. For a few seconds, I don’t remember where I am. The sheets smell different, cedar, whiskey, and something faintly sweet, the slow, steady rise and fall of a man’s chest behind me. I blink. My lashes brush against the silk pillowcase. Then it hits me all at once. Last night. The club. The drive. The house. Him.

My chest tightens. I lie still, afraid to move, afraid that if I shift, I’ll have to face what I’ve done. His breath brushes the back of my neck, slow and even. He’s still asleep. His hand rests on my stomach, fingers twitching slightly like he’s dreaming. I stare at the ceiling, at the soft morning light spilling through the curtains, and try to quiet the noise in my head. My body aches in all the places his hands had been. I can still feel him on my skin , the heat, the weight, the way my pulse refused to slow. I close my eyes and inhale slowly, but the scent of him makes it worse. I lie there frozen, trying to piece it all together, my pulse drumming like a warning.Guilt seeps in, thick and cold, flooding every thought.I shouldn’t be here.

Daniel.

His name crashes into me like a wave. The room smells like masculine, with a faint trace of whiskey and cedar. The sheets are dark, smooth, and tangled around our legs. I turn carefully, slipping out from under his arm, trying not to wake him. But he stirs, his arm tightening slightly before relaxing, but doesn’t wake. The sheet slides off my body, brushing my bare skin. I find my blouse on the floor, wrinkled and smelling faintly of him. As I pull it on, my reflection in the glass window catches my eye , messy hair, mascara smudged, my lips swollen. I look like a woman I don’t know.

The house is quiet, too perfect. Morning sunlight filters through tall windows, falling over polished floors and dark wood furniture. Everything looks expensive and tastefully minimal, muted tones, wide spaces, nothing out of place. There’s a faint hum from somewhere, maybe the refrigerator, and the soft rustle of leaves outside. I walk barefoot through the hallway, the marble cold under my feet.

When I reach the living room, the view outside steals my breath for a second. The windows open into a small terrace, overlooking a line of trees and a quiet street beyond. Birds dart through the light. The world outside seems peaceful , cruelly peaceful , while my chest feels like a storm.

“Morning.”His voice startles me. I turn. Adrian stands at the bottom of the stairs, shirtless, a gray sweatpants hanging low on his hips. He looks nothing like he did last night , his expression is softer, his smile gentle. The confidence from the club has faded into something quieter.“You’re awake early,” he says, rubbing the back of his neck.

“I couldn’t sleep,” I mumble, looking away.He studies me for a second, then gives a small nod. “Hangover?”

“A bit.” My voice cracks.

“I’ll fix that,” he says, walking into the kitchen.I hesitate before following him. The kitchen is open and bright, marble countertops gleaming under the morning light. A coffee machine hums quietly in the corner. He moves with an easy grace, opening cabinets, pulling things out like he’s done it a hundred times. “Sit,” he says gently, motioning to one of the high stools. I sit, my fingers twisting the hem of my blouse. He pours coffee into two mugs, then pulls out a glass of water and something that looks like aspirin. “This should help with the headache,” he says, setting them in front of me.

“Thanks ,” I whisper, my throat tight.He gives a small smile. “You don’t have to thank me for that.”he added, “I bet you’re hungry, I can quickly fix up something you can eat” he says as I watch him move around the kitchen , the way his muscles shift under his skin, the quiet ease in his movements. He starts making breakfast, humming under his breath. Bacon sizzles in the pan, eggs crack open against the counter. The smell fills the room, warm, comforting, painfully familiar . I remember when Daniel used to cook for me too, on sunday mornings, when we didn’t have to rush. He’d hum the same way, pour me coffee before I even asked. For a second, I see Daniel standing where Adrian is, his face clear as day, his hand reaching out to brush my hair aside. My chest tightens so hard it hurts. “You okay?” Adrian’s voice pulls me back.

I blink quickly, nodding. “Yeah, just tired.”He studies me for a moment, like he knows that’s not the truth.“You can shower if you want. There are towels upstairs. Second door on the right.” “Thanks,” I say again, my voice barely above a whisper. I pad toward the bathroom, his house is huge , modern, sleek, all open glass and muted tones. The kind of place that feels too quiet, too still, like it doesn’t want to be lived in. I pull out my phone , No missed calls. No messages from Daniel, Just silence. The ache in my chest deepens.I grip the sink, exhaling slowly. “What have I done?” I whisper. The words echo softly. My mind drifts to Daniel. To his face when I screamed at him in the office. The shock. The coldness. The look that said you’re embarrassing me.

He hasn’t called. Not once. I close my eyes and press my forehead against the tile. I strip off my blouse and step into the shower. The water is hot, almost burning, and I stand there until the steam fogs the mirror completely. It’s like I’m trying to wash away everything ,his touch, the alcohol, the guilt sitting heavy in my stomach. After the shower I slip into one of his shirts . By the time I come back down, the table is set , two plates, coffee, toast, and fruit. It looks… too thoughtful. Too much like a morning after something real. I hesitate at the bottom of the stairs, “I need to get going, I have important stuff to do, do you mind dropping me off?” I say ,clutching my purse like it might anchor me. He looks up from the table and smiles. “Come on. You need to eat.” he says pointing at my plate . “You don’t have to go yet” he adds . I walk to the table , He just slides a plate toward me. “Eat,” he says softly.

The food smells amazing, but I can barely taste it. Guilt chews at me instead. “You look better in my shirt than I do,” he says. I force a small laugh. “Don’t get used to it.” “Maybe I want to.”he says . The words hang in the air for a second too long, but I can’t look at him. After 3 guilty bites of the food , I catch his eyes still staring. I get up . “That was quick” he says getting up too. “Okay , umm , let me grab my keys” , he storms back inside . The drive back is silent, filled with low music and unspoken thoughts. The city passes by outside, bright and indifferent. My reflection in the window looks like someone who’s lost everything ,I keep my gaze fixed on the window, pretending to watch the city pass by, but all I can think about is Daniel.

Adrian’s hand rests lightly on the steering wheel, the other tapping softly against his thigh. I can feel him glancing at me sometimes, like he’s trying to understand something he can’t name.“Are you alright?,” he says. “I am,” I whisper. He nods, gripping the wheel tighter. When we pull up in front of the bar, my car is still parked there, the sunlight bouncing off its surface like nothing ever happened. I unbuckle my seatbelt slowly. “Thanks,” I say quietly,my hand already on the door handle. He looks at me , long, steady, searching. “You don’t have to thank me, Emma. Just… take care of yourself.”“You deserve better than whatever made you look that sad last night,” he adds voice low. I nod, my throat too tight to speak.

When I step out of the car, the sun hits my face. I blink against it, my eyes stinging. I hear the soft hum of the engine fade as he drives away. My car is still where I left it, parked slightly crooked in front of the club . I sit inside, gripping the steering wheel, the events from yesterday flood back, the office, the shouting, the humiliation. The way Daniel looked at me like I was nothing. My stomach twists. I stare at my phone once more , Just silence. Was he with her last night? Did he think about me at all?