Mark was avoiding me.
I knew it the second I walked out of my room the next morning. The penthouse felt colder, quieter — like a space caught in limbo. His keys weren’t on the counter, his shoes weren’t by the door, and the usual half-empty coffee mug he left on the dining table was nowhere to be seen.
I told myself I didn’t care. I didn’t care that he wouldn’t look at me when he finally came back that evening, his jaw tight and eyes fixed on the floor. I didn’t care that he stayed locked in his office most days, the door a silent, impenetrable wall between us.
I didn’t care.
Except I did.
Every time I caught a glimpse of him, the weight of what we had done — what I had done — burned through me. The reckless, desperate need that had twisted us together, tangled us up in a way that nei
