The Morning After
898 Words
The first thing Ava noticed was the light.
Pale, relentless dawn seeped through the floor-to-ceiling windows, painting stripes across the unfamiliar bedsheets. Her head throbbed. Her mouth tasted like regret. She bolted upright—
And froze.
Liam Carter lay beside her, one arm slung over his eyes, his chest rising and falling in slow, even breaths. The sheets pooled at his waist, revealing a trail of dark hair disappearing beneath the fabric. His dress shirt was discarded on the floor, the cufflinks glinting like accusations in the morning sun.
Oh, God.
Memories flooded back in fragmented flashes: the gala, the scotch, his hands on her waist, the way his mouth had moved against hers like he wanted to consume her. The way she’d let him.
She swallowed, her throat raw. The room smelled like him—bergamot and something darker, like old leather and lightning. Her dress was tangled around her ankles, the emerald silk wrinkled beyond repair. She yanked it up, wincing as the zipper caught.
A floorboard creaked.
Ava’s head snapped up. Liam was leaning against the doorway, his shirt unbuttoned, his gray eyes sharp and unreadable. A muscle feathered in his jaw.
“Leaving so soon?” His voice was rough, like gravel underfoot.
She clutched the sheet to her chest, her fingers trembling. “I—yes.”
He didn’t move. Didn’t smile. Just watched her with that infuriating, inscrutable gaze. “You don’t even remember my name, do you?”
Heat crawled up her neck. “Of course I do.”
“Prove it.”
“Liam,” she snapped. “Happy?”
A corner of his mouth lifted. Not a smile. A smirk. “Liar.”
She scrambled out of bed, her bare feet sinking into the plush rug. Her purse was on the nightstand. She grabbed it, her fingers brushing against a crumpled napkin with a lipstick-stained phone number—hers, scrawled in his handwriting. For the car service, he’d murmured last night. So you don’t have to walk home alone.
The gesture felt like a betrayal now.
“You’re insufferable,” she hissed, shoving her feet into her heels.
“And you’re beautiful when you’re flustered.” He pushed off the doorway, closing the distance between them in three strides. His finger hooked under her chin, tilting her face up. “But you already know that.”
Ava jerked away. “Don’t touch me.”
His hand dropped, but his gaze didn’t waver. “Why? Afraid you’ll like it?”
She wanted to slap him. Wanted to kiss him again. The conflict must’ve shown on her face, because his smirk deepened.
“Last night wasn’t a mistake, Ava.”
“It was for me.” The lie tasted bitter.
Liam’s expression darkened. For a second, she thought she saw something raw flicker in his eyes—hurt, maybe—but it was gone before she could be sure. He stepped back, grabbing his shirt from the floor and shrugging into it with practiced ease.
“Then it’s a good thing I don’t believe in regrets.” He buttoned the cuffs, his movements precise, controlled. “The car’s downstairs. It’ll take you anywhere you want to go.”
She should’ve left. Should’ve stormed out and never looked back.
But the way he said it—like he was daring her to stay—made her pause. “That’s it? No grand speech? No ‘let’s do this again’?”
He turned, his broad back to her as he poured two glasses of water from the bedside carafe. “You wanted one night.” He handed her a glass, his fingers brushing hers. “I always give people what they want.”
The water was cool against her palms. She drank it in one gulp, avoiding his eyes.
“Unless they change their mind,” he added, his voice low.
Ava set the glass down with a click. “I won’t.”
“No?” He leaned in, his breath warm against her ear. “Then why are you still here?”
She didn’t have an answer.
The intercom buzzed, saving her. Liam’s assistant, crisp and efficient: “Mr. Carter, your 8 a.m. is here.”
He straightened, all business again. “Duty calls.”
Ava exhaled, the tension uncoiling from her shoulders. “Right. Well. Goodbye, Liam.”
She didn’t wait for his reply.
The penthouse was a maze of cold marble and modern art. She found her clutch on the entry table, her lipstick smudged on the rim of a half-empty scotch glass. A souvenir. She pocketed it without thinking.
The elevator ride down was a blur. The city bustled around her, indifferent. She hailed a cab, gave the driver her address, and only then did she let herself breathe.
Her phone buzzed.
Unknown Number: You left this.
A photo. Her favorite silver bracelet, the one her mother had given her, resting on Liam’s palm. His fingers were long, elegant. Dangerous.
Unknown Number: I’ll have it delivered.
Ava’s thumb hovered over the screen. She should’ve blocked him. Should’ve deleted the message and pretended last night never happened.
Instead, she typed:
Ava: Keep it.
Three dots appeared. Disappeared. Then:
Liam: I don’t take what isn’t mine.
She didn’t reply.
- Writer
