The days after the party were cold and hollow. Eliana and Nicky lived in the same space, but it felt like different worlds.
Their words, when spoken at all, were clipped, perfunctory, exchanged like strangers forced to inhabit the same roof.
Nicky brooded in silence, retreating to his study or returning home late without explanation, his footsteps echoing through the apartment like accusations.
Eliana wandered from room to room, ashamed, replaying the bruising sex in her mind like a confession she could not undo. She could still feel his hands, his mouth, his fury. The shame crawled over her skin until she could not bear her own reflection.
