“Where to, Miss Hayden?” Marcus asked as he settled behind the steering wheel, adjusting the mirror with quiet professionalism.
My hands were still trembling.
I hadn’t realized how badly until I tried to lace my fingers together and felt them refuse to steady. My eyes slid shut as I leaned back against the leather seat, forcing air into my lungs slowly, deliberately. I needed clarity. I needed distance from the warmth of Ashton’s breath against my throat, from the implication in his voice, from the entitlement in his touch. I needed to think—strategically, rationally—about what had just happened and what it meant.
Because this was no longer about discomfort. This was about inevitability.
If I did nothing, he would push further. If I ignored it, he would interpret that as permission. If
