“Sleep well? Or were you too busy dreaming of me?”

Clara’s POV

The morning light felt harsh, almost cruel, as it crept through the curtains of my room, prying me awake from a restless night. My eyes were heavy, swollen from tears I had cried until sheer exhaustion dragged me under. I wanted nothing more than to burrow under the covers and forget the night before—forget Nolan’s taunts, his piercing gaze, Rebecca’s mocking voice, and the way it felt like I’d walked straight into a nightmare I couldn’t escape.

But life doesn’t stop for heartbreak or humiliation, no matter how much I wished it would.

I forced myself to get ready, slipping into my jeans and a simple top, tying my hair back into a half-hearted ponytail. The reflection in the mirror revealed a girl who was trying too hard to look unaffected, yet I knew the truth—my lips were pale, my eyes still rimmed with red from lack of sleep, and my chest was hollow, aching with unspoken words that felt like swallowed knives.

When I stepped into the dining room, the air thick with the smell of toast and coffee, I felt my stomach twist with dread. There he was, Nolan, spread out at the table, relaxed and utterly infuriating, shirtless and unashamed, a coffee cup cradled casually in his hand like the king of his own kingdom. His skin glistened softly in the morning light, the muscles of his chest and arms accentuated, as if he were baiting me to take notice.

As my eyes widened slightly, my heart raced with a mix of fury and disbelief. He was so unconcerned that I almost despised him more for that casual confidence. I quickly pushed the thoughts away. I couldn’t let him get under my skin like this again.

His eyes flicked up lazily when he saw me, and that trademark smirk crept onto his lips. “Morning, Picasso,” he drawled, as if we were friends instead of enemies. “Sleep well? Or were you too busy dreaming of me?” The way he leaned back in his chair, so relaxed, sent an involuntary shiver of irritation down my spine.

I ignored him, walking straight to the table, trying to focus on assembling a breakfast that wouldn't assail my stomach. I piled toast onto my plate, my hands shaking slightly though I willed them not to. I refused to meet his eyes, determined not to give him the satisfaction of seeing me falter again.

“Silent treatment, huh?” he murmured, the teasing lilt of his voice sending a jolt of anger through me. He leaned back further, twisting into a more comfortable position. The muscles in his chest flexed deliberately—taunting. “Cute. But it won’t last.”

Why couldn’t he just leave me alone? I hadn’t asked for this complicated mess, and I was done playing whatever insidious game he kept trying to drag me into.

“Want to know what I dreamt about?” he continued, undeterred, and I felt my skin prickle at his audacity. “It was you, Clara. I was rough with you, just like I was with Rebecca. You’re quite the tease, watching me with her the last night. Did you like it? Did it make you hot under the collar?”

I clenched my jaw, the memories of him and Rebecca still too fresh and raw. I picked up my bag, stuffing the toast inside in a futile effort to keep my agitation at bay. “Shut up, Nolan. Just... shut up.”

“Aw, but it’s too easy to get you riled up,” he smirked, his eyes gleaming with mischief. “You’re practically begging for attention. I knew you were more interested than you let on. Just because you’re ‘artistic’ doesn’t mean you can’t participate in the real world.”

I felt my blood boil, the words dancing across my mind like daggers. “This isn’t art, Nolan. That’s disgusting. Or did you forget how to respect boundaries?”

“Oh, c’mon. Watching people make out is practically everyone’s pastime. And you're pretending to be above it?” He chuckled darkly, leaning forward and lowering his voice just enough for me to hear the playful taunt. “Maybe you wanted to join. Or maybe you just want to get some action yourself. Admit it.”

“Get over yourself,” I shot back, the weight of his gaze unsettling as I turned on my heel.

As I headed for the door, I heard my anger boiling on the surface, toughening my resolve. I wouldn’t let him crush me again. I didn’t look back, but of course, he followed. The sound of his footsteps made the hairs on the back of my neck stand up, and it pushed me forward with renewed urgency.

“Clara!” he called, his voice taunting in a way that made me want to scream.