Iris’s POV
I kept the takeout on the table before bolting to the bathroom. I slammed the door behind me, locking it with a trembling hand. The tiles were cold beneath my bare feet, grounding me slightly as I turned on the shower. Hot water sprayed over me, washing away the sticky weight of sweat, shame, and desire from last night. Every droplet felt like it carried pieces of the night I wished I could forget.
I scrubbed harder than necessary, letting scented oils lather over my skin. The warm, fragrant steam was a shield, masking the traces of what had happened, burying the evidence in a haze of lavender and vanilla. I pressed the bar of soap against my chest, my fingers clenching around it, imagining that somehow it could wash away the guilt too.
Minutes later, I stepped out, my skin
