The morning after felt unreal.
The city outside Adam’s window was alive with the rhythm of a new day, but inside his apartment, time seemed frozen. The air still carried the faint trace of Emily’s perfume, a ghost of last night clinging to him like guilt.
He hadn’t slept. He couldn’t. Every time he closed his eyes, he saw her face, the fear, the heat, the moment when everything fell apart.
One kiss.
One mistake.
One truth he couldn’t take back.
The sharp buzz of his phone cut through the silence. It was a message from Mr. Johnson again.
“My office. 9 a.m.”
Adam’s stomach clenched. He looked at the time, 8:42. His reflection in the mirror stared back, pale and hollow-eyed. He threw on a shirt, forced himself into the routine he’d perfected
