THE NIGHT WE FELL

CHAPTER FOUR

WARREN

The moment I pull into my driveway, I sense my interest beginning to fade. She’s fascinated by my house, exclaiming that she wants to meet my architect. I don’t blame her; everyone has the same reaction when they come here. I try to play it cool, hoping to recapture the mood, but it’s no use.

Once we step inside, her awe only deepens. She rushes to the center of the room, stopping in front of an artwork, hands clasped over her mouth. I laugh at her expression and head to the kitchen to pour us a drink. It’s not her fault—the piece is truly spectacular.

The artwork is a mesmerizing installation that hangs gracefully from the ceiling. It features a life-sized sculptural hand crafted from translucent material, appearing to extend downward as if gently offering something below. The fingers are elegantly splayed, capturing the moment just before release.

Suspended from the hand is a vibrant canvas painted in rich colors and dynamic textures, swirling with energy and emotion. The interplay of light creates a soft glow, illuminating the hand and casting intricate shadows on the walls.

The entire composition evokes a sense of wonder, suggesting a connection between the giver and the gift. It was designed to captivate everyone who encounters it, sparking curiosity and conversation. So far, it has succeeded, enthralling all who see it. But no one has noticed the subtle message hidden within.

I hand her a glass, and she takes it with a bright smile. It’s still as radiant as when she first smiled at me in the bar, but it no longer holds the same effect on me. She downs her drink in one gulp and sets the glass on a nearby table. Wrapping her arms around my neck, she stands on her tiptoes. Her movements are uncoordinated, so I place my hands on her waist to keep her steady.

She leans in close and plants a kiss on my jawline, giggling like a child. Another kiss follows, this time just below my mouth. I lean down, helping her out, but the kiss doesn’t electrify me; it fails to dull my senses.

This isn’t working. I expected to forget all my worries by focusing on her, but that’s proving futile. I kiss her harder, trying to fill my senses with her, but even that effort falls short. Breaking the kiss, I pour myself another glass while she continues to giggle, unaware of my disconnection.

I lead her upstairs to my room, and she crawls into bed with swift motion. Her body language is seductive, her gaze inviting, but I remain unmoved. I drain my glass in one swig and contemplate crawling in beside her but decide to hit the bathroom first.

A shower does nothing to revive my enthusiasm. When I finally return to my room, I find her lying in bed, waiting expectantly. Her clothes are scattered on the floor; she’s naked beneath my duvet. Even that sight doesn’t spark any desire to join her.

A heavy weight settles over me, so I turn and head downstairs instead. I grab another drink and turn to go back upstairs, but stop in my tracks. The alcohol is definitely hitting me now, but I’m still uninterested in her. I don’t want to force myself into something I might regret later. The reason I brought her here was to forget all about work and the events that unfolded, but that hasn’t worked at all.

Instead, I make my way to the BQ. It’s better to let her sleep in the comfort of my bed than send her away in the middle of the night after raising her expectations. I stagger to my kitchen and take the connecting door to the adjoining room.

The BQ is warmer than my main house. The lights are off, leaving me alone in the darkness. Thankfully, my mind goes completely quiet, too. The only thing I register is the unfamiliar scent in the air. I haven’t been here in a long while. I’ll tell the housekeeper to use whatever air freshener she uses here in the main house, too. It has a calming effect, managing to do what I’ve struggled to achieve all evening in mere minutes.

I close my eyes and wait for sleep to come, but it doesn’t arrive immediately. Instead, I lay awake trying to figure out the flavor of the air freshener. It could be mixed fruits, with hints of peach and cherries. The thought of food makes me hungry, but I stay put. I sniff in more air, but the scent seems to be fading. I must have inhaled it all.

I feel more exhausted than hungry. So instead of going in search of food, I head back to the bedroom. The place is pitch dark, but the air conditioner hums softly. I appreciate the atmosphere but make a mental note to talk to my housekeeper about it. The moment my head hits the pillow, I drift into unconsciousness.

The next time I wake up, I peel off my bathrobe and slip under the duvet. I notice that it’s already laid out on the bed. Someone must have slept here recently. I’ll find out if someone has been living in my house without my permission. The housekeeper could get in trouble for this. I’ll worry about that in the morning.

Right now, I wrap myself in the duvet, reveling in the fruity smell that has thankfully grown stronger in the air. It seems to be coming from beside me, so I reach out and find a woman asleep. How did she follow me from the main house? I guess she just kept walking until she found me.

I push all the thoughts aside and return to bed, enjoying the cozy atmosphere and sweet scent. The sound of rain falling against the window adds to the magic, and this time I can’t help but reach out to her. I don’t want anything physical; I just need human warmth to help me sleep better.

And it does. I sleep peacefully, like a baby. I can’t say the same about how I wake up, though.