Chapter 8

Kate’s POV

The pounding in my head was relentless, like someone was playing drums inside my skull.

Ugh. What the hell happened last night?

I sat up slowly, clutching my temples, and immediately regretted it. My vision blurred, stomach twisting into uncomfortable knots. The room spun just a little, and I groaned, dragging myself to the edge of the bed.

My mouth was dry. My dress was crumpled. And worst of all... flashes from last night were slowly trickling back.

I saw him.

Mr William.

He was home.

That realization alone sent a strange flutter through my chest—until more memories started to piece themselves together.

No.

No, no, no.

Oh my God!

I remembered stumbling into the house. Thinking I was hallucinating him. Telling him he wasn’t real. Laughing.

And then—I said things. I did things.

I flirted with him. No—threw myself at him.

“Stay with me tonight,” I had whispered like some desperate fool.

And then—God. I think I even told him to kiss me. Or worse. I begged him. My stomach flipped with humiliation.

I buried my face in my hands, groaning into my palms. “Kill me now.”

What in the world had gotten into me?

I acted like some drunk, needy—slut.

What must he think of me?

I threw myself back on the bed, covering my face with the pillow, wishing I could teleport to another planet.

He must hate me. Or worse, pity me. Or think I’m easy. A stupid little girl with no self-respect.

And he rejected me. Of course he did. Because I embarrassed myself beyond redemption. Because I'm nothing but his friend’s daughter—one he probably sees as a reckless kid who can’t handle her emotions.

Tears stung my eyes, but I fought them back.

I can’t face him.

Not today.

Maybe not ever.

God… what did I even say to him last night? Did I tell him I wanted him? Did I say—more?

I winced at the thought.

And suddenly, a terrifying new question hit me like a slap:

Did he stay?

Was he in the room when I passed out?

I sat bolt upright in bed, heart hammering.

If I had to see him today… if he looked at me with even a hint of pity or disgust… I might actually die.

And worst of all?

Deep down, beneath the embarrassment and shame…

I still wanted him.

I wanted him so badly it made my chest ache.

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I hadn't eaten all day. Not because I wasn’t hungry—but because shame is surprisingly filling when it's fresh. But now it was nearly 2 p.m., and my stomach felt like it was trying to digest itself.

My head throbbed. My mouth was dry. My limbs shaky. I had no choice.

So I waited. Ears perked like a rabbit, heart pounding as I pressed against the door of my room, listening for any sign of life outside. It was quiet. Too quiet. Maybe he’d gone out again.

God, I hoped he had.

I couldn’t face him. Not yet. Not after... last night. When I didn’t hear any footsteps, voices, or creaking floorboards, I cracked open the door and tiptoed down the hall like a thief. My heart was practically in my throat.

The coast was clear. The kitchen was empty—thankfully. I let out a breath I didn’t realize I’d been holding and hurried inside. My stomach growled the second I opened the fridge. Cold rice and leftover chicken never looked so divine.

Screw table manners. I grabbed a spoon and ate straight from the container, leaning against the counter like a starving cavewoman. Halfway through devouring a piece of chicken, I heard it.

Footsteps.

I froze mid-bite, eyes darting toward the kitchen entrance.

No. Please. Not now.

But the moment I saw the tall figure step in—

My heart plummeted.

Mr William!

Just my luck.

He stopped when he saw me, his expression unreadable.

And I—God—I was holding a spoon in one hand and had a mouth full of food like some wild animal caught raiding the pantry at midnight.

I nearly choked, scrambling to swallow. My hand fumbled to close the food container. I could feel my face go ten shades of red. My palms were sweaty. My knees weak.

I couldn’t even look at him.

He took a slow step into the kitchen, his deep voice smooth as ever.

“You didn’t come down for breakfast.”

I opened my mouth to reply, but my throat felt like sandpaper.

“I—I wasn’t really hungry then,” I mumbled.

Lies. Obvious, desperate lies.

He moved closer. His eyes were trained on me, but I couldn’t read them. I didn’t know if he was angry, amused, or simply indifferent.

I wished he would say something. Anything. Yell at me. Tease me. Acknowledge last night.

Instead, he stood there in maddening silence, making me want to vanish into thin air.

I swallowed hard.

“About last night... I—I was drunk. I didn’t mean any of that. I barely even remember—”

“That so?” he cut in smoothly, arching a brow.

I blinked, caught off guard.

His tone wasn’t angry. But it wasn’t exactly neutral either. It was... loaded.

I gripped the edge of the counter, suddenly needing it to stay upright.

“Yeah. I mean, I was just rambling nonsense, you know. Drunk talk. None of it meant anything.”

He walked closer, slow, deliberate steps that made my breath hitch.

My eyes darted to his face. His jaw was tight. His gaze—intense. Piercing.

“So you don’t remember anything?” he asked, voice low now.

I opened my mouth—but no words came out.

Because the truth was, I remembered everything. Every word. Every look. Every stupid thing I begged him to do.

And the way he was looking at me now?

He remembered too.

I couldn’t take it anymore.

The way he was staring at me—with that unreadable expression and maddening silence—was driving me insane. My heart was hammering, my mouth suddenly dry again. I had to say something. Anything.

So I did what any coward would do—I changed the topic.

“Where… where did you go?” I asked, avoiding his eyes and busying myself with wiping an invisible speck off the counter. “You were gone for a whole week.”

He was silent for a moment, like he was trying to decide whether to answer. Then he shrugged, casually walking to the fridge and pulling out a bottle of water.

“I had a business trip,” he said simply.

That was it? That’s all I got?

I blinked, my stomach tightening. I forced a shaky laugh, even though there was nothing funny about this.

“Right. Business. Of course.”

He didn’t look at me.

My hands gripped the counter tighter. I bit my lip, trying not to sound too fragile.

“I thought maybe you were avoiding the house because of me. Because of… what happened at the club. With Jeremy.”

That got his attention.

He turned his head slightly, brows raised just enough to make me feel like the world’s biggest idiot.

“That?” he asked, his voice maddeningly indifferent. “Kate, your relationship with your boyfriend is none of my concern.”

Ouch.

My chest clenched, and I felt like the air had been knocked out of my lungs.

He opened the bottle of water and took a slow sip, still not sparing me more than a glance.

“I wasn’t running away,” he added coolly. “And I’m certainly not keeping tabs on what you do with your boyfriend at parties.”

Double ouch.

So that’s how he wanted to play it?

Pretend nothing happened? Pretend he didn’t care? Pretend like I didn’t practically throw myself at him last night, and he didn’t look at me like I was driving him out of his mind?

God, this was humiliating.

“Right,” I said, backing away from the counter, my hands trembling a little. “Well… glad to know you don’t care.”

I turned toward the door, wanting to escape—again—but his voice stopped me in my tracks.

“But you clearly do.”

I froze.

My eyes widened as I slowly turned around to look at him.

He was still leaning against the counter, calm as ever—but there was something in his eyes now. A flicker of something dark. Something dangerous.

“What?"

“I’m not the one who’s still thinking about that night,” he said, voice low, each word deliberate. “You are.”

My heart skipped a beat. My knees felt like they would give out.

Damn him.