(Sloane’s POV) I barely slept that night,tossing against sheets that suddenly felt too heavy, like they were made of lead. I kept replaying the way he had walked past me in the living room the evening before. He hadn't even touched me, but his hand had brushed the back of the couch so close to my shoulder that I felt the displacement of air, a ghost of a caress that set my skin prickling. I hated how easily he got under my skin, how he seemed to occupy the atmosphere itself. I woke up nearly an hour before my alarm, my muscles coiled tight. I moved through the dim shadows of the room, but I didn't reach for my usual jeans. My skin felt feverish, and the thought of heavy fabric was unbearable. Instead, I padded out into the hallway in black silk pajama shorts and a thin camisole that left very little to the imagination. I figured I’d be alone at 5:30 AM. I was wrong. The smell of expensive coffee hit m
Dernière mise à jour : 2026-03-29
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