Zoey
The next morning came too fast.
Not in that chaotic alarm-screaming way, but in that quiet “ugh why is reality knocking already” way. When I blinked awake, there was this muted grey light slipping through the penthouse curtains, brushing over the room like it was scared to make noise.
For a second, I didn’t move.
My hand was still resting where Alex had held it last night. My brain did that dumb spiraling thing, replaying the softness in his voice, the warmth of his palm, the way he’d said home like it was something he could offer me, not something I had to build from scraps.
I should’ve been steady by now. But I felt like a shaken soda bottle pretending to be calm.
I stretched, rubbed my eyes, and dragged myself up. The place was too quiet… until I noticed the faint sound of so
