Orla wasn’t sure when desire turned into danger.
At first, it had been just a craving—a high, a wicked thrill in the pit of her stomach whenever she saw Stanley’s name flash across her screen. A low buzz in her veins that made her feel reckless and alive. Then came the little things. The silence between texts. The sharpness in his tone when she asked too much. The way his eyes darkened in the middle of laughter, like he was remembering a version of himself he couldn’t share.
She noticed the shadows before she realized she was standing in them.
It had been three days since their second night together. Three long, aching days. And she wasn’t the kind of woman to count. She didn’t pine, didn’t beg, didn’t chase. But this was different. Stanley was different. The way he touched her, the way
