did you sleep well, Clara?

Clara's POV

Morning sunlight spilled into the kitchen, warm and golden, though it felt nothing like comfort. Instead, it pressed down on me like an unwelcome reminder of the turmoil I had tried to ignore. My chest was tight, a vice squeezing around my heart, while images from last night replayed in my mind like an unending loop, each frame igniting a flicker of shame that burned in the pit of my stomach.

I moved quickly, consciously trying to blend into the hum of morning activity around me. I pulled a mug from the cupboard, feeling its cool ceramic against my palm before filling it with coffee. The hot liquid poured like a balm, but it did little to soothe my frayed nerves. I inhaled deeply, drawing the rich aroma into my lungs—a small comfort amidst the chaos of my thoughts.

My mother’s voice floated through the air, soft and inviting as she and Richard shared a few light-hearted jokes at the table. I yearned to be a part of that warmth, to dissolve into the simple rhythm of their breakfast banter. But my resolve shattered when he walked in.

Nolan.

He stepped into the kitchen like he owned the place, freshly showered, damp hair casually pushed back, his grey T-shirt clinging to muscles he didn’t deserve. Every inch of him was designed to infuriate me further—everything was just as it should be for him. His stormy eyes flicked to mine, sharp and assessing, and that wicked smirk tugged at his lips, as if he already knew I hadn’t slept a wink the night before.

I turned away, determined to give him no satisfaction. My gaze dropped to my coffee mug, gripping it tight like it was my only anchor in a turbulent sea. Had he seen my shame? The very thought tightened the knot twisting in my gut.

“Morning, sweetheart,” my mom said softly, sliding a plate of perfectly toasted bread toward me, the corners crisped just right.

“Morning,” I murmured, forcing a small smile as I took the seat farthest away from him, hoping to disappear into the fabric of the kitchen.

Nolan settled across from me, his presence immediately filling the space, the air crackling with unspoken tension. Every movement he made was a performance—spreading jam on his toast with languid precision, the way he chewed slowly, almost mockingly, as his gaze darted toward me between bites, that smug expression never leaving his face.

I pretended to focus on my breakfast as if my life depended on it, my heart pounding loudly as I forced myself to remain still, to act normal. The way he looked at me, as if I were some puzzle he reveled in solving, flared the anger and shame swirling within me.

“Did you sleep well, Clara?” he finally asked, his voice dripping with feigned innocence.

“None of your business,” I snapped, the words escaping before I could rein them in. The moment I said it, I regretted it, but it felt good to lash out, even for a brief moment.

Nolan chuckled, that insufferable, self-assured laugh, and it filled the room with an unsettling energy. “Well, it’s a shame. A girl like you needs her beauty sleep.”

“Enough, Nolan,” I hissed, glaring at him. “Just eat your toast.”

He raised an eyebrow, clearly unfazed. “Why? So you can brood in silence? Not my fault you’re in a mood this morning.”

“Guys,” Richard interjected, trying to inject some levity into the breakfast atmosphere. “Can we keep the morning drama to a minimum? It’s too early for this.” His attempt was kind-hearted, but knowing Nolan, any attention it drew would only encourage him.

“Sure thing, Dad. I’ll make sure Clara doesn’t fall apart before drink number two,” Nolan quipped, directing his gaze back to me, amusement dancing in his stormy eyes.

I clenched my fists under the table, fighting the urge to launch myself at him for his relentless teasing. Each jibe was like a knife twisting deeper, dredging up the shame I couldn’t quite articulate.

As soon as the meal ended, I mumbled something about catching the bus to avoid any more of the spectacle unfolding around the table. I stood quickly, slipping my bag over my shoulder, desperate to escape the tightness in my chest.

“Clara, the driver can drop you off—” Richard offered, his voice filled with genuine concern.

“No!” I said too fast, the word tumbling out louder than I intended, enough to make my mother look up with surprise. Then, softer, I added, “No, it’s fine, Mr. Carter. The bus is easier.”

“Suit yourself,” he replied, a hint of disappointment lacing his tone. But I could hear the restraint in his voice, the understanding that sometimes I just needed to escape.

I felt Nolan’s gaze on me the whole time, cold and pinning like a spotlight, burning into my back as I left the house. I kept my head down as I rushed to the front door, hoping against hope that he wouldn’t say anything else—that he wouldn’t take the opportunity to poke the bear once more.

The bus ride felt interminable. Students chatted, laughter bubbled, and music blasted through someone’s earbuds, life moving on as if nothing were different. But inside, I was a storm, thrumming with anger and confusion, the sharp memory of his voice replaying in my head.

His smirk, the way he’d caught me watching—that whole raw encounter clung to me like a stain I couldn’t scrub away, and each jolt of the bus felt synced to the rhythm of my racing heart.

I couldn’t escape Nolan Carter. Not at home, not at school, not anywhere. The realization gnawed at me like hunger, the awareness that I was trapped in a twisted game of emotions I’d never asked to play.

With each stop, I felt the tension build as new students boarded, filling the seats around me with chatter and life. I tried to tune it out, to focus on the vibration of the bus beneath me and the fleeting scenery outside, but my mind kept drifting back to him—the taunting glint in his eyes, the way he exuded confidence like it was a second skin.

What is wrong with me?

The question burned in my mind, congealing with frustration and shame. I had always been resolute, focused on my studies and my future. Yet here I was, tethered to Nolan, captivated even as I loathed what he represented.

At campus, the chaos of the hallways engulfed me, students bustling around with the easy laughter of youth, filled with a normalcy I felt so far removed from. I ducked into my first class, doing my best to avoid making eye contact with anyone, sinking into the back row.