The Man Downstairs

Chapter Five – The Morning After

she probably thought Daniel was still beside her. She could almost feel the warmth of his arms, the steady rise and fall of his chest against her back, the way his lips had searched her skin with quiet hunger.

Her breath caught as flashes returned—his hands tracing her waist, the sound of her own laughter mixed with his whispers, the way everything between them felt desperate and fragile at once. It had been months since Daniel had touched her like that, and she had wanted to believe it meant something more than just a passing spark.

But when she turned to the other side of the bed, it was empty.

The sheets were cold. His shirt, his watch, his shoes—gone. Just like that.

A hollow feeling crept into her chest. She pulled the blanket closer, staring at the dent his body had left behind. No note, no goodbye, not even a half-smile to meet her in the morning. That was Daniel. He loved in bursts and disappeared in silence.

Olivia sat up slowly, rubbing her arms as though the touch of last night could still be there. A small voice inside her asked if she should be angry. Another asked if she should be sad. Instead, she simply felt tired. Tired of hoping he would stay longer, tired of trying to read meaning in the way he looked at her, tired of pretending she was enough for him.

She pushed the blanket off and stood. Today, she decided, would be different. If Daniel could slip out without a word, then she would at least step into the world looking like a woman who didn’t break so easily.

She opened her wardrobe and searched until she found the blouse she rarely wore—a deep, wine-red silk that clung to her shape. She paired it with tailored black trousers, sleek and bold, and chose heels that clicked sharply against the floorboards when she walked. Her hair, usually tied back in a neat ponytail, she let fall over her shoulders, brushing it until it shone. She added a touch of perfume at her wrists and neck, a scent she knew lingered longer than words.

For a moment, she stared at her reflection. She didn’t look like the same Olivia who had woken up in an empty bed. She looked stronger, brighter, even if it was only armor. And that was enough.

She picked up her bag, locked her apartment door, and stepped into the hallway. The air was still, carrying only the faint smell of morning coffee from somewhere below. She started down the stairs, her heels tapping against the wood.

“Morning.”

The voice came from the landing below. Olivia paused and glanced down.

Ethan was standing at his doorway, a mug of steaming coffee in his hand. His dark hair was slightly mussed, his shirt loose around his frame as though he hadn’t bothered much with it. He leaned against the doorframe, watching her with steady eyes that seemed to notice more than she wanted them to.

“Morning,” she replied softly, her tone careful.

He took a slow sip from his cup, his gaze still on her. Then, almost casually, he spoke again.

“Good luck with your day, Olivia.”

She blinked, caught off guard by the simplicity of his words. No strange questions, no heavy look—just that.

Her lips curved into a small, genuine smile. “Thank you.”

She adjusted her bag on her shoulder and kept walking, but the warmth of his voice lingered with her longer than she expected. By the time she stepped out of the building, the ache Daniel left behind felt just a little lighter.