Prologue(continued)
639 Words
Instead, I leaned against the door, watching him. Wanting him.
He glanced at me, and in that glance, there was no question left to answer.
The kiss happened again, harder this time, urgent. His hands framed my face, then slid down, mapping the line of my spine, pressing me closer until there was no space left. I let myself drown in it—in him.
My heels clattered to the floor somewhere between the door and the couch. His shirt followed. My fingers were clumsy, tugging at buttons, desperate and nervous all at once.
“Slow down,” he murmured against my mouth, breath warm, steady, patient.
“I can’t,” I whispered, surprised by the honesty in my own voice. “Not tonight.”
Something flickered in his eyes at that, understanding, maybe even recognition. He kissed me again, softer this time, like a promise.
We moved to the bedroom, half-laughing, half-breathless. His touch was deliberate, reverent almost, as though he was memorizing me piece by piece. For once, I wasn’t the girl carrying walls on my back. I wasn’t the orphan raised on survival, on keeping distance.
With him, I let myself fall.
And when it finally happened, when the space between us disappeared entirely, it wasn’t perfect. It was messy, heated, tangled in sheets that would never feel the same again. But it was real. So real it scared me.
His voice, low in my ear, saying my name like it mattered. My hands clutching at him, like I’d lose something if I let go.
For one night, I wasn’t alone.
####
When I woke, the light was softer, morning gray bleeding through the curtains. The rain had stopped. My head throbbed faintly from whiskey and little sleep, but my lips still burned from his kiss.
I rolled over, half-smiling, expecting warmth, a body beside me.
The sheets were cold.
Empty.
My heart sank before my brain caught up. The space where he’d been was bare, not even an imprint left. His jacket, his shirt—gone.
No note. No number. Nothing.
Like he’d been a storm itself: fierce, consuming, and gone before I could anchor myself.
I sat there, clutching the sheet to my chest, anger and disbelief tangling in my stomach. I wasn’t the kind of girl who expected fairy tales, but I wasn’t the kind who deserved to be discarded, either.
“Coward,” I muttered under my breath, though my voice cracked.
That morning, I swore to myself it had just been one night. A mistake. A story I’d bury under work, under coffee runs and deadlines and the noise of the city.
But some storms don’t pass quietly.
#######
Two weeks later
I was in the staff restroom, gripping the edge of the sink like it was the only thing keeping me upright.
The test lay on the counter, its little window screaming at me in pink lines that couldn’t be mistaken, couldn’t be reasoned away.
Positive.
My stomach twisted, the air gone from my lungs.
No. No, no, no.
I pressed my forehead to the mirror, staring at the pale, wide-eyed reflection that looked nothing like the confident woman I pretended to be.
One night. One stranger. And now… this.
I thought of him, Daniel. His smile, his voice, the way he’d said my name like he wanted to keep it. And then the way he’d vanished, leaving me with nothing but questions.
I wanted to hate him. To erase him. To shove the memory into the darkest corner of my mind.
But my hands drifted unconsciously to my stomach, trembling, protective.
“This wasn’t supposed to happen,” I whispered.
Yet somehow, I knew. My life had just split into before and after.
And Daniel, the storm I should’ve never let in, was at the center of it all.
- Writer
