I woke up to the soft grumble of thunder, distant but steady like the world was gently groaning in its sleep. Rain tapped at the windows, lazy and rhythmic, and the air was cool enough to make me curl deeper into my blanket. My room smelled like rain and clean linen. Honestly, it was the kind of morning you didn't want to leave bed for.
My cramps were there, but kinder today. More like a dull hum than the sharp, twisting pain I usually get. I reached out for my phone on the nightstand, half-dreading what I'd see.
One new message.
Aaron: "Sorry. Been busy."
That was it. No "hope you're okay." Not even a how are you? I stared at the screen for a few seconds, biting the inside of my cheek.
Cool.
Whatever.
Okay.
I locked my phone, tossed it aside, and dragged myself out of bed before the weight of that tiny, dismissive message could latch onto me. And surprisingly... I didn't fall apart. I didn't spiral. My chest still ached a little, but instead of crawling deeper under my covers and playing sad music like usual… my mind wandered somewhere else.
To last night.
To him.
The way he picked me up like I weighed nothing. The way he didn't even flinch when I leaned into him. The food, God, that food. The way it tasted like memories I didn't know I had. The way he let me talk, and didn't make it weird. Kieran was…
I didn't even know what he was.
But he was in my house.
And he made me feel seen. And safe. In the strangest, most dangerous way.
I pulled on my softest hoodie and leggings, brushing my teeth slowly, taking my time with my skin routine. It felt weird, like moving through a fog, but a cozy kind. My body didn't feel as heavy today.
I stepped out of my room quietly, still half expecting to see Kieran sprawled on the couch like last night.
But it was empty.
I blinked, glancing around. "Kieran?"
No answer. Just the hush of rain on the windows.
I tiptoed closer, peeking toward the kitchen. Nothing.
"Hey, Kieran?" I called again, a little louder this time. Still nothing.
I hesitated in front of the bathroom door, lifting my hand to knock when it swung open, right into me.
I gasped, stumbling back—only to freeze when I saw him.
Steam billowed out of the bathroom like a slow breath. And Kieran… Kieran stepped out of it like some kind of walking sin, water still trailing down his bare chest, tattoos gleaming against wet skin. Snakes and dragons wove around his muscles like they lived there. A chaotic, beautiful kind of mythology inked into flesh. His hair was soaked, falling in messy strands across his eyes until he lazily swept it back.
And then he looked at me.
My throat went dry. My brain emptied out like someone flipped the table of my thoughts over.
I should look away.
I should say something.
Instead I just stood there, eyes trailing helplessly from the tattoos, to his glistening abs, to the sweatpants slung so low on his hips I could see—
Oh my God.
He smirked. "You gonna get out of the way, little dove, or you planning to keep staring at me like you want to eat me alive?"
My soul left my body.
I squeaked—literally squeaked—and jumped to the side so fast I nearly tripped on the mat.
He chuckled low under his breath, disappearing into the living room like that moment didn't just alter the chemical makeup of my blood.
I stormed into the bathroom with burning cheeks and shut the door a little too hard behind me, pressing my back to it like it could protect me from the memory of his dripping, dangerously sculpted, half-naked body.
Jesus.
The rest of my morning was chaos. I brushed my hair in a rush. Slapped on makeup that I was ninety-percent sure wasn't even blended properly. Spilled a little water down my shirt and had to change. By the time I had my bag packed and shoes on, I was already ten minutes behind schedule.
I made it to the door, hand on the knob, when—
"Kina."
His voice—calm, low, and just a little amused—froze me mid-step.
I turned, and there he was again. Dry now, but still shirtless, still infuriatingly… Kieran. He held out a bag with one hand and a small umbrella in the other.
"It's gonna rain harder later," he said. "Forecast says around lunch."
I stared at the bag, brows knitting. "What's in—?"
"Lunch. And a few things I saw you drop in the kitchen this morning." He nodded to the bag. "You skipped breakfast again."
"I didn't ask you to—"
His brows lifted. Not a word. Just one look. A very mom-look.
I shut up and took the bag and umbrella like a scolded child.
"…Thanks," I mumbled.
"Good girl."
He winked.
I hated him. And maybe also… liked him a little.
I opened the door and stepped out, heart still doing jumping jacks.
"Be safe. Come home soon, okay?" he called after me, voice teasing but weirdly warm, like one of those housewives in a drama waving at her husband from the porch.
I didn't look back. I couldn't. I just walked faster, head down, ears burning.
On the train, I sat near the window and peeked into the bag.
Inside were two perfectly wrapped sandwiches, my pink thermos with coffee (still warm), and a folded napkin with a little scribble on it that looked suspiciously like a doodled skull with a heart.
I didn't know whether to laugh or cry.
So I blushed. And sipped my coffee. And tried to breathe.
By the time I arrived at VANTA Corp HQ, my heart had mostly steadied. I stepped through the revolving doors, smoothing my hoodie down, prepared to blend into the crowd like usual—
But the first person I saw in the lobby was him.
Aaron.
Tall, flawless, in a suit, of course. Surrounded by executives and half-smiling at whatever call he was on. Like he owned the building. Like he owned me.
He looked up just as I froze, our eyes locking across the marble floor.
My chest twisted.
Even angry… I loved him. I stupidly loved him. Every piece of him, even the ones that never reached back.
But I forced myself to look away.
And I walked straight to the elevator.