Ana woke up before the sun.
The apartment was silent — except for the low hum of city noise far below.
She hadn't changed out of her dress.
Hadn't dried her hair.
Last night's kiss still clung to her skin like the rain never stopped.
She kissed Christian Blake.
And he kissed her like she mattered.
🍵 In the Kitchen
She padded into the kitchen barefoot.
A mug was already waiting.
Not just poured — prepared.
Warm milk. Half sugar. Exactly how she took it.
She blinked.
"You don't usually beat me up," Christian's voice said from behind her.
She turned.
He leaned against the doorframe, grey T-shirt clinging slightly to his chest, damp hair messily pushed back.
He looked… human.
Tired.
Unpolished.
Real.
"I couldn't sleep," Ana said, voice quiet.
"Because of the rain?"
She looked at him.
"No. Because of you."
He walked forward slowly, holding his own coffee like a shield.
She didn't move.
But everything inside her did.
"Do you regret it?" he asked.
She raised a brow. "That you kissed me? Or that I kissed you back?"
Christian's jaw flexed. "Both."
She studied him for a moment.
Then shook her head. "No. I regret that it meant something."
Silence.
"I told myself not to feel anything," she added. "But you kissed me like I was more than a headline. And I believed it."
Christian stepped closer. Voice low. "What if you were?"
Ana paused. "Then you need to say it when we're dry, sober, and not soaking in excuses."
They stood across the island, mugs between them like peace offerings.
No pretending.
No smirks.
Just two people suddenly afraid of what they were becoming.
"Thank you," he said finally.
"For what?"
"For not walking away."
Ana looked down. "I was halfway out the door."
He smiled softly. "And still came back in."
The silence after that wasn't awkward.
It was… gentle.
And in a life built on performances—
That felt like a rebellion.
To be continued…