POV: Willa ThorneThe first thing I realized when I woke up was that the air in my loft had changed. It usually tasted of stale turpentine and the cold, damp scent of old brick, but this morning there was a sharp, expensive undercurrent of sandalwood and success.I was tangled in a nest of paint-stained sheets, the morning light filtering through the grime of the skylight in long, dusty shafts. Silas was gone from the bed, but the indentation on the pillow beside me was still warm. I sat up, pulling the duvet to my chest, my heart doing a frantic staccato as the memories of the night before flooded back. The train, the studio, the way his hands had felt like a brand on my skin—it wasn't just a lapse in judgment. It was a total structural collapse of my defenses.I heard a rhythmic, metallic tapping coming from the kitchen area.I threw on an oversized sweater and padded across the cold floor. Silas was standing at my small, rusted gas stove, his charcoal suit jacket discarded on a mil
最終更新日 : 2026-02-09
