Amelia
I woke up disoriented. For a split second, I thought I was back in my dorm bed, the way I used to feel after a late night study session—heavy, groggy, limbs tangled in too many layers. But then I blinked, and it all came rushing back. Richard.
The bed wasn’t mine, the room wasn’t mine, and the pillow under my cheek still smelled like him.
Heat surged to my face before I’d even fully sat up. I shoved the blanket back and slipped quietly out of the room, trying not to wake him—though something told me he was already awake. My heart thudded as I crossed into the lounge, moving fast toward the workspace. I needed to be useful, invisible, out of his space.
By the time the sun was fully up, I’d buried myself in emails and updates. Speaker profiles, credential confirmations, schedule a
