Ronan stood alone in that bathroom.
Still breathing hard.
Still feeling every damn second of what had just happened.
But the loudest thing wasn’t the rush of blood in his ears or the music vibrating through the walls outside.
It was the silence Evelyn had left in her wake.
She hadn’t said a word.
Not a single one.
No soft whispers.
No lingering looks meant to soothe the heat between them.
She’d fixed her dress, straightened her hair, looked him dead in the eye—and walked out.
Like she’d planned it all along.
Like she’d gotten exactly what she wanted.
And maybe… she had.
Ronan let out a breath, rough and sharp, dragging a hand down his face as he steadied himself.
This wasn’t just lust.
It wasn’t just two people giving in to something reckless.
No—she’d made it crystal clear
