POV: Claire
The apartment was quiet, deceptively quiet. Every creak of the floorboards, every distant horn from the street below made me flinch. I hadn’t slept well, tossing and turning, replaying last night over and over like a loop I couldn’t escape. My body still buzzed from him—the memory of Ryan Hale’s hands, his lips, the way he’d claimed me as though I belonged to him.
And I hated myself for wanting it again.
I tried to busy myself. Dishes, laundry, organizing papers—but my thoughts were relentless. Every time my phone buzzed, I flinched, hoping it wouldn’t be him. And every time it wasn’t, relief was brief and hollow.
Sophie called mid-morning, cheerful as always, oblivious to the storm raging inside me. “Mom, could you please grab a few items for tomorrow’s dinner?
And, oh, Ry
