-POV Derby
I left his penthouse that morning without saying goodbye.
I slipped out while he was still sleeping, hair messy on the pillow, arm reaching for the space I’d just vacated. My legs were still weak from the way he’d taken me again at dawn — slow, deep, almost tender — like he was trying to memorize every inch of me before the real world came crashing back in.
I took the elevator down feeling like a thief.
By the time I reached my own apartment, the guilt had already settled heavy in my chest.
I showered until the water ran cold, trying to wash away the scent of him, the feeling of his hands, the echo of his voice whispering “you’re mine” against my skin.
It didn’t work.
At work, I moved like a robot. Answered emails. Attended meetings. Smiled when people asked how my weeken
