The morning after felt… surreal.
Not in the dreamlike, floating-on-air way she imagined it might. Not in the way teenage girls whisper about with wide eyes and hopeful hearts.
No. This was the kind of surreal that came with a weight in her chest and a knot in her stomach.
Isabelle stirred slowly, limbs heavy beneath the sheets, her body sore in places that felt unfamiliar again. The early light poured through the curtains, turning the room pale gold. It was quiet—too quiet.
For a moment, her brain hadn’t caught up.
Then the scent hit her. Warm skin, faint traces of cologne, whiskey, and something uniquely him. The sheet beside her still held the imprint of his body. She couldn't even recall how things escalated to her bedroom.
She turned instinctively.
Empty.
The space next to her
