The next morning, Elian woke up to a silent house.
His limbs felt like lead, and his eyelids felt so heavy he could barely open his eyes. The first thing he noticed was that the penthouse was quiet, on instinct his head turned to the side, and found the space beside him empty. He lay there for a moment, trying to recall fully what happened the day before. His body ached in the best and worst ways, bruises blooming across his hips, bite marks on his shoulder, the grip of Dex’s hand still imprinted around his throat, though it was gradually fading away.
He sat up with a grunt and his hair wild as his gaze sweeped the room. Again, no sign of Dex, there was no mocking presence of him looming around. Just the faint scent of his cologne that lingered against the skin.
He frowned, rubbing a ha
