The morning after the kitchen incident felt like walking into a different apartment.Ava woke up determined. If Roman wanted distance, she would give it to him. She would be cold. Professional. Untouchable. She would treat him like the bodyguard her father hired and nothing more—no lingering glances, no soft admissions, no questions that invited the truth they both already knew.It was harder than she expected.When she walked into the kitchen the next morning he was already there in his black T-shirt, sweatpants, coffee in hand, the same controlled stillness that made the space around him feel smaller. Their eyes met for half a second before both of them looked away. The memory of his mouth on her neck, his hands on her body, the hard press of him against her, hung in the air between them like smoke that refused to clear.“Morning,” he said, voice carefully neutral.“Morning.”That was it.No lingering looks. No charged silence. Just polite, empty words
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