3
Vivian
I always liked mornings best. Before Gerald, before Landon, before everything in my life became complicated, mornings were my quiet time—a cup of coffee, sunlight angling through the kitchen window, the slow comfort of routine. But nothing about this morning felt quiet or easy. It felt raw, new, as if the whole house was holding its breath.
I woke to the scent of coffee and something buttery and sweet. For a moment, I lay tangled in my sheets, warm and sated, my body deliciously sore from what Landon and I had done in the pool house yesterday. I traced the fresh bruises on my thighs and bit my lip, feeling an ache that wasn’t just physical. Part of me wanted to feel guilty, wanted to regret, but all I felt was a desperate, reckless longing for more.
I wrapped myself in a robe—
