My breath is a ragged companion, chasing my thoughts through the fog as the city streets race past. The reflection of the world outside is a dizzying smear against the windshield, an echo of the tumult inside me. By the time I reach home, I’m no closer to understanding Derek or the effect he has on me. I linger on the threshold, wondering if this familiar place is still mine. The scent of betrayal lingers like the trace of someone else’s perfume. Derek is in his study, the door slightly ajar, and my heart beats the frantic rhythm of an unexpected question.
I catch the low murmur of his voice, smooth but urgent, the edges too sharp, too intense. "It's under control," I hear, just as a floorboard betrays me with a creak. Derek stops mid-sentence, silence swallowing the rest. My pulse races
