The silence in my apartment was deafening.
I sat on my couch in the glow of the city lights, legs tucked beneath me, my phone clutched tight in my hand. The leather cushions pressed into my skin, but the only sensation I could truly feel was the ache of waiting. The screen stayed dark—no texts, no calls, not even the smallest vibration to signal that he was thinking about me.
Conley’s name stared back at me in the message thread, cold and lifeless. Hours had passed since I’d last seen him. Hours since Angel had arrived at the mansion. And in those hours, I had become invisible.
I hated the way my thumb hovered over the keyboard, desperate to type Are you thinking of me? Do you still want me? But I didn’t. I couldn’t. Begging wasn’t my style. And yet… wasn’t that what I was doing, sittin
