With a heavy heart and mind still fogged with a mix of hangover and madness , Alec slowly pushed the quilt aside and stepped down from the bed. His feet hit the cold floor, but it was the scattered remnants of Salena’s torn clothes that made his chest tighten. The fabric lay in delicate, defeated pieces—silent proof of a night he both craved and wished could do it again.
He bent down and picked up one of the torn sleeves, his fingers brushing against the soft fabric as his jaw clenched. What did we do? His heart ached—not because of the intimacy, but because of the weight behind it. Slowly, pieces of the night started falling back into place.
He remembered her voice, soft and drunk, as she called his father “papa.” He remembered how she was stroking his hair, whispering things to calm
