12. MARCUS
CHAPTER 12
MARCUS
The phone call with Kristy is spiraling downhill fast, as usual.
“I told you this Love Lab thing would blow up in your face,” she says, her tone sharp enough to cut. “Do you have any idea what Jill told me? That her friends’ parents are gossiping about you now? Do you even think about how this affects her before you sign up for these ridiculous stunts?”
I grip the edge of the car door, breathing deeply. Across the parking lot, a couple of people glance in my direction, clearly recognizing me. Just what I need.
“I think about Jill all the time , Kristy,” I say, keeping my voice calm. “This isn’t a stunt. It’s work. I’m trying to build something here.”
“Build what? A reputation as a joke?” she snaps. “You should be focusing on being a good role model for your daughter, Marcus, not chasing internet fame.”
I pinch the bridge of my nose. “Jill knows I love her, and she knows I’m doing this for her too. I don’t need you questioning my parenting every five seconds.”
“Oh, so that’s why her field trip fee was late last month? Because you’re doing this for her?” she shoots back. The words land harder than I want to admit, and I exhale slowly, trying not to let her rile me up.
“Her fee was late because the check got caught in processing, not because I forgot,” I say, my voice tightening. “You know I handle my responsibilities.”
“Sure you do,” she says, her tone dripping with disbelief. “If you were as responsible as you claim, you wouldn’t be all over the news for dumping soup on someone.”
“That wasn’t me—” I start, but she cuts me off.
“Do you even realize how this makes Jill feel? She’s thirteen, Marcus. She’s at the age where this stuff matters . Fix it.”
Right then, I hear the click of boots on asphalt. I glance up, and my jaw nearly drops. Olivia Chase is walking across the lot toward me, her skirt shorter than anything I’ve ever seen her wear, paired with sleek black boots that demand attention. Her hair’s loose and glossy, catching the dim glow of the streetlights.
She’s a walking bombshell, and I completely forget how to form words for a moment.
“I’ll call you back,” I say into the phone, hanging up without waiting for Kristy’s reply.
“Marcus.” Olivia stops a few feet away, striking a casual pose that’s anything but casual. Her lips quirk into a smirk. “I’m bringing the oomph factor. Some people seemed to think I lacked that in the last video.”
My brain short-circuits. All I can manage is, “You look... stunning.”
She lets out a low laugh, glancing down at her outfit as if she’s only just noticed what she’s wearing. “Thanks. Figured I’d up the ante. You know, give the people what they want.”
Recovering slightly, I clear my throat. “You don’t have to read the comments, you know. Not all of them are going to be nice.”
Her lips curve into a half-smile, but there’s a flicker of something behind her eyes—something she’s trying hard to mask. “Don’t worry, Marcus. I’ve got thick skin.”
I shake my head. “That doesn’t mean you need to let people tear you down. You’re doing great, Olivia. Don’t let a few trolls tell you otherwise.”
Her smile softens slightly, and the tension from my call with Kristy melts away for a brief moment. She’s more than just a team member on this wild experiment; she’s formidable. And right now, she’s dressed to kill—and making my pulse spike in ways it shouldn’t.
We walk toward the entrance, the distant sound of laughter and country music spilling out onto the sidewalk. I glance at her again, stealing a quick look at the way her skirt sways with each step.
Damn, Marcus. Focus.
Inside, the bar is a mix of rustic charm and modern flair—dark wood paneling, neon signs glowing softly, and a small stage at the far end where a band is setting up. The smell of barbecue wafts through the air, mingling with the faintest hint of whiskey. It’s cozy and intimate, perfect for what we’re trying to pull off tonight.
But my stomach knots anyway.
The ice-skating video is doing way better than we expected. The comments section is blowing up, and it’s not just about Olivia’s charm or the production quality—it’s about her and Jax. People are shipping them hard. “Jalivia,” “Jaxie,” or whatever else they’ve cooked up. It’s all anyone can talk about, and as much as I hate to admit it, it’s making me a little… insecure.
I’m older than Olivia, by a solid decade at least. I’m not flashy like Jax or effortlessly charming like Ethan. I’m just… me. And while I know this whole thing is supposed to be fake, I can’t help but wonder if anyone out there is rooting for “Molivia.” Probably not.
I shake off the thought as we reach the table where the cameras are already set up. Ethan and Jax are fiddling with the equipment.
Jax glances up as we approach, his gaze flickering to Olivia before settling on me with a nod.
“You’re late,” Ethan says, his tone teasing but not unkind.
“Had a call,” I reply shortly, not wanting to dive into the disaster that is my co-parenting arrangement right now.
Olivia takes a seat, gracefully crossing her legs, and I watch her for a moment. Then, I pull out the chair across from her and sit down, forcing myself to focus. Tonight needs to go perfectly, not just for the audience but also for me.
The soft twang of a country guitar hums through the bar. They’ve picked a great place. Though, personally, it’s not my scene.
Across the table, Olivia is animated, her green eyes gleaming with excitement as she talks about something I only halfway hear. It’s easy to talk to her—or rather, to listen to her. She has this knack for filling silences in a way that feels natural, unforced.
But I can’t help the nagging distraction tugging at the back of my mind. Her and Jax at the rink. The looks they shared, the way they moved together like they’d been doing it for years, and the way she’d smiled at him, wide and genuine. It was chemistry, undeniable and effortless.
Here, though? I’m not so sure. Olivia seems relaxed, leaning on her elbows, her skirt riding up just enough to make me shift uncomfortably in my seat. But I can’t tell if that same spark is here with us.
“Are you even listening to me, Marcus?”
I blink, snapping back to attention. “Of course,” I lie, though she’s clearly not buying it.
She narrows her eyes but doesn’t press further. Instead, she smirks, sitting back in her chair and tapping her fingers against the table. “You know what? Let’s try something different.”
“What do you mean?” I ask, but she’s already standing, smoothing her skirt with one hand and extending the other toward me.
“Come on.”
Before I know it, she’s dragging me across the room toward the bar. The lights above the counter cast a warm glow, illuminating rows of gleaming bottles and the occasional neon sign. I glance back at Ethan and Jax, who are watching us like hawks, their expressions unreadable.
“What are we doing?” I ask Olivia, who’s looking around, trying to find something.
“You’ll see,” she says, finally pointing at one direction. “Let’s go.”
The crowd near the center is particularly rowdy, gathered around a large table where an ongoing drinking game has everyone cheering and jeering in equal measure.
I should’ve known Olivia had a plan when she dragged me over here.
“Let’s join them,” she says, her green eyes sparkling as she takes in the scene.
“I don’t think this is a good idea,” I murmur, glancing at Olivia as she steps forward with zero hesitation.
“Oh, come on, Marcus,” she says, her voice laced with mischief. “What’s the worst that could happen?”
“I embarrass myself in front of a room full of strangers,” I deadpan.
“Strangers who are drunk and won’t remember by tomorrow,” she counters, her grin widening.
“Are you sure about this?” I ask, hesitating as I take in the animated group. “I’m not exactly... the drinking game type.”
“You’ll be fine,” she says, grabbing my hand and pulling me forward. “Besides, you’ve got me as your partner. I’m great at these.”
There’s no room for argument as we step into the circle. A tall guy with a cowboy hat notices us and waves us over. “New challengers!” he declares, slapping the table. “You two are in. Rules are simple—take the shot, answer the question, or face the penalty.”
“Penalty?” I echo, narrowing my eyes.
“Don’t worry,” Olivia whispers with a grin, leaning close enough that her hair brushes my arm. “It’s not as bad as it sounds. Usually.”
I sigh but take the seat next to her as someone pushes two shot glasses in front of us. The game begins, and to my surprise, I don’t completely hate it. Olivia’s competitive streak comes out in full force, and her confidence makes it easier to relax. She nails trivia questions about sitcoms and reality TV while I manage to hold my own with history and science.
But then, as the game progresses, things start to take a turn.
“You two look familiar,” a woman across the table says, squinting at us. “Weren’t you in that restaurant video?”
I stiffen, but Olivia, ever the pro, flashes a smile. “Depends—was it a flattering angle?”
The woman laughs, but another guy chimes in. “Yeah, that’s you two! Man, that video was wild. What happened? Did the date end early?”
I open my mouth to respond, but Olivia beats me to it. “Something like that. But we’re making up for it now, aren’t we, Marcus?”
Her hand brushes mine under the table.
It’s all for the cameras, I have to remind myself. We’re still rolling, after all. She’s just playing her part, and none of this is real. Then why do I feel myself turning hard just at her touch. Fuck me.
“Aw, you guys make a cute couple,” someone else says.
Another voice chimes in from the other side of the table. “Yeah, c’mon, kiss and make it official!”
The chant starts slow but grows louder as more people join in. “Kiss! Kiss! Kiss!”
I glance at Olivia, who’s laughing but with a slight edge of discomfort. Her cheeks are flushed, though whether it’s from the alcohol or the chanting, I can’t tell.
This is spiraling fast. I lean toward her, lowering my voice.
“I think we should—” I start, but she cuts me off.
“We’re not getting out of this, Marcus,” she says.
“Olivia, I?—”
“Just kiss me,” she says, rolling her eyes. “It’s not like we haven’t done worse for the camera.”
I hesitate for a moment longer, but the crowd is relentless.
“It’s fine, really,” she says quickly, her voice steady but her eyes uncertain. “Just... let’s get it over with. Otherwise, people may get suspicious; we’re still on camera.”
Right, that.
Before I can overthink it, I lean in. Our lips meet, and what starts as a quick, almost perfunctory gesture sparks into something... more.
Her lips are soft and warm, and the briefest brush against mine sends a jolt through me. I feel her breath hitch, just slightly as my hand instinctively comes up to her face, brushing against her cheek. It’s a short kiss, no more than a few seconds, but it’s enough to silence the crowd and make my head spin.
When I pull back, she’s staring at me, wide-eyed and clearly as surprised as I am. The cheers and whistles from the group barely register as I sit back in my seat, trying to ignore the heat rising to my face.
“Well,” Olivia says finally, her voice light but her smile tinged with something unreadable. “That should keep them quiet for a while.”
I nod, swallowing hard.
The moment Olivia excuses herself to go to the restroom, I lean back in my seat, letting out a long breath. The crowd around us is still buzzing with energy, and though the game has moved on, a few people keep sneaking glances at me, probably trying to connect the dots between the guy from that video and the one sitting here now.
I try to focus on the drink in front of me, but after a few minutes, I glance toward the hallway leading to the restrooms. Olivia hasn’t come back yet.
A knot forms in my stomach. I tell myself to relax—she’s fine. Maybe she ran into a long line or got held up. But the longer she’s gone, the harder it becomes to sit still. Finally, I push back my chair and decide to check on her, weaving through the tables and past groups of people laughing and chatting.
As I near the restroom hallway, I spot her. But she’s not alone. A woman is standing in front of her, blocking her path. Olivia looks uncomfortable, her posture stiff, and her eyes flicker toward me in what I can only describe as a silent SOS.
At first, my gut churns with anger. Charlie Green . She’s come to ruin another night for us. But as I step closer, I realize it’s not her.
The woman is younger, maybe in her late twenties, with messy blonde hair and wild eyes. She’s gesturing animatedly, her voice rising just enough for me to catch snippets.
“Oh my god, it’s really you! I can’t believe this! You’re from that new Love Lab series where all the creators are dating you,” she says. “I’m so jealous. Can you tell me where you interviewed for it?”
“I didn’t,” Olivia says looking stricken.
“Really? You don’t have to lie about it. Gatekeeping makes you ugly, you know?”
“I really should—” she starts when she spots me, relief bleeding into her features. “Marcus.”
The woman turns around at the mention of my name. “Oh my god,” she breathes, her hands flying up to cover her mouth. “It’s really you! I’ve watched every single video you’ve guest-starred in. I always thought you were the best part. Ethan’s funny, Jax is hot, but you—" She leans in slightly, her voice dropping to something conspiratorial. “You’re so... grounded. So real.”
I blink, completely thrown off. “Uh... thanks?”
She ignores my discomfort, turning back to Olivia with a sudden frown. “Wait, are you two here on a date?”
“Kind of?” I say, which is obviously the wrong thing because she seems to get upset by the second.
“You are really dating here. I told my friend—they told me it’s bullshit but I knew it’s not. I saw the way that Jax guy was staring at you, and him too,” she tells Olivia. I resist the urge to bury my face. I’m not that transparent, am I?
Olivia opens her mouth, but no words come out. She throws me a panicked glance, and it’s all I need to know that we’re in trouble.
“She’s just a friend,” I say quickly.
“You’re lying,” she says. Her voice starts to rise. “You’re off the market. How could you do this to me?”
I reach for Olivia’s hand without thinking, gripping it firmly. “Come on,” I mutter under my breath. “We’re leaving.”
“But the drinks—” Olivia starts, clearly still processing the situation.
“Screw the drinks,” I say, pulling her gently but urgently.
The woman steps forward, her voice now carrying through the bar. “Marcus! Wait! I just want to talk to you!”
Heads are turning now, people craning their necks to see what’s going on. My pulse spikes, and I tighten my hold on Olivia’s hand.
“Run,” I whisper, and without hesitation, she matches my pace as we dart through the crowded bar.
We weave between tables and patrons, ignoring the confused stares and murmurs that follow us. The exit is in sight, but the woman isn’t giving up.
“Marcus! Please!” she yells, her voice cracking. “Don’t leave!”
The moment we burst through the side entrance into the alley, I slam the door shut behind us. The night air is crisp, the scent of damp concrete and faint cigarette smoke lingering. My heart is still pounding in my chest.
Olivia leans against the cold brick wall, catching her breath. “What is it with us and dramatic exits?” she jokes, her voice a little breathless.
“It’s the universe’s way of humbling us.”
She chuckles softly, and the sound tugs at something deep inside me. The dim light catches the curve of her face, her flushed cheeks, the way her lips part as she exhales. She looks up at me, her green eyes glinting, and suddenly, the space between us feels impossibly small.
“You okay?” I ask, my voice quieter now.
She nods but doesn’t say anything. Her gaze flicks to mine, and there’s something there. My hand rests against the wall next to her, and I realize how close we are. Too close.
Or maybe not close enough.
“Marcus,” she says, my name barely a whisper.
I don’t know who moves first. Maybe it’s me. Maybe it’s her. But the next thing I know, her lips are on mine, soft and insistent.
It’s not tentative. It’s not slow. It’s fire and desperation and weeks of tension unraveling all at once.
My other hand finds her waist, pulling her closer. The brick wall presses against her back as our bodies collide, and I feel her fingers curl into the front of my shirt, tugging me closer. She’s warm, soft, and everything I shouldn’t want right now but can’t seem to resist.
She tilts her head, deepening the kiss, and I groan softly against her lips. I don’t think I’ve ever wanted someone the way I want her in this moment. Her scent surrounds me, intoxicating, and when I feel her nails drag lightly down my chest, it’s all I can do to keep myself grounded.
“Olivia,” I murmur against her mouth, my hands sliding down to her hips.
She pulls back just enough to look at me. Her cheeks are flushed, her hair slightly tousled, and damn if she doesn’t look absolutely stunning.
“This is... probably not a good idea,” she says, though her fingers don’t stop gripping my shirt.
“Terrible idea,” I agree, leaning in to kiss her again.
I don’t know what possesses me to say it—maybe the way her lips are still parted, the faint tremble in her breathing, or the heat in her gaze that she tries so hard to mask—but the words are out before I can stop them.
“Do you want to get out of here?” I ask, my voice low, my hand brushing a stray lock of hair from her face.
She blinks up at me, surprised, maybe a little unsure. “Where?”
“My apartment’s just a block down,” I say, trying to keep my tone light, casual. “We can... get away from all this noise.”
Her hesitation is palpable, the kind that stretches time too thin. But then she nods, almost imperceptibly at first, and I swear my chest loosens as if I’d been holding my breath. “Okay,” she says softly, her voice nearly drowned out by the night air.
We don’t say much as we walk to my car.
My hand rests on her knee—not too high, not too low, just there. Her skin is warm under my palm, and I can feel the tension in her posture. But she doesn’t move away. In fact, she leans into it, just a fraction, and that’s all the permission I need.
When we reach my place, I park the car and step out, moving to her side before she even reaches for the door handle. She looks at me, her lips slightly parted, like she’s about to say something, but then she doesn’t. I help her out, my hand on her elbow, steadying her. She’s not drunk, not really, but there’s a sway to her step that has nothing to do with the alcohol.
The elevator ride up is pure torture.
I glance at her out of the corner of my eye, and she’s staring straight ahead, her lips pressed together in what I can only guess is an attempt to seem calm.
We step out into the hallway when the doors open, and I lead her to my door. As soon as it clicks shut behind us, I turn to her, unable to wait another second.
I kiss her.
It’s not tentative this time, not hesitant. It’s deliberate, my hands framing her face as I press my lips to hers. She makes a soft sound of surprise against my mouth, and for a moment, I think she might pull away. But then she doesn’t. Instead, she melts into me, her hands gripping the front of my shirt like it’s the only thing keeping her grounded.
Her fingers are still tangled in the front of my shirt, and when she tugs just slightly, I feel that pull everywhere. I let my hands slip from her waist, sliding down to her hips, pressing her closer until there’s no space left between us.
I kiss her again, deeper this time, like I’m trying to memorize the shape of her mouth. She moans softly against my lips, and it sends a rush of heat through me. My hands wander, sliding up her back, under her shirt, feeling the soft, warm skin beneath. She shivers, and I can’t tell if it’s from the cold or the way my fingers trail along her spine.
Her hands move too, slipping under my jacket and pushing it off my shoulders. It falls to the floor, forgotten. When she reaches for the buttons on my shirt, her fingers fumble slightly, and she lets out a frustrated little huff. I chuckle against her lips, pulling back just enough to look at her.
“Need some help?” I tease, my voice low and rough.
She glares at me playfully. “Shut up.”
I grin but don’t say anything as I shrug out of my shirt, letting it join the jacket on the floor. Her eyes roam over me, and the way she bites her lip almost undoes me. I don’t give her a chance to overthink; my hands find the hem of her top, and I lift it slowly, giving her time to stop me if she wants to.
She doesn’t.
The shirt slips over her head, and she stands there in front of me, flushed and beautiful. Her bra is simple, a soft gray that contrasts against her alabaster skin. Her freckles stand out more now, scattered across her chest and shoulders like stars, and I can’t resist leaning down to press my lips to them, one by one.
Her breath catches as I trail kisses down her neck, along her collarbone, and lower. My hands skim her waist, her hips, before sliding up to unhook her bra. She tenses for just a moment, her arms twitching as if she wants to cover herself, but I stop her with a gentle hand on her wrist.
“Don’t,” I murmur, my voice soft but firm. “You’re beautiful.”
Her eyes meet mine, and there’s something vulnerable in them, something raw. She nods slightly, and I take that as permission. Her body arches into me as my thumbs tease her sensitive peaks through the lace of her bra. Slowly, I peel the fabric away, revealing her completely. Her breasts are full, heavy, tipped with rosy peaks that tighten under my gaze.
“Perfect,” I murmur, my voice thick as I take her in. Her breasts are full, the softest shade of cream, and I can’t resist dragging my tongue across her skin. She shivers, her hands tangling in my hair as I lavish attention on her, sucking and licking until her breathing becomes erratic.
“Marcus,” she whispers, and it’s not a protest—it’s an invitation.
Her hands are in my hair now, tugging lightly as I continue my slow exploration. She arches into me, a soft whimper escaping her lips, and it’s enough to drive me insane. I kiss the curve of her breast, the sensitive skin there, and she gasps. My tongue flicks over her nipple, and she moans, her back arching as she presses closer to me.
“Marcus,” she breathes, my name a soft plea on her lips.
I lower my head, kissing her collarbone before moving lower, my lips brushing the curve of her breast. She gasps when my mouth closes over her, my tongue flicking against her sensitive skin. My hands continue to explore her, sliding down her sides and gripping her hips as her fingers thread into my hair, pulling me closer.
I glance up at her, taking in the way her head tilts back, the way her lips part on a sigh. “You’re incredible,” I murmur against her skin. I let one of my hands slide down further, over her thigh, teasing the edge of her skirt as I let my mouth linger.
I knead her softness, rolling her nipples between my fingers, watching as her body reacts to every touch. Her eyes flutter closed, her lips parting as she whispers my name like a prayer. I can feel myself growing harder, my control slipping with every passing second.
Her hips shift restlessly, and I know she’s just as desperate as I am.
I hook my fingers under the waistband of her skirt, pulling it down along with her panties in one slow, deliberate motion. The sight of her bare, glistening, and open for me nearly undoes me. “You’re so damn beautiful,” I growl, pressing my lips to the inside of her thigh, feeling her tremble beneath me.
Her hand finds mine, squeezing as if to steady herself, but I’m far from done. I slide a finger through her wetness, teasing her entrance before pressing inside. Her back arches, a soft cry escaping her lips. I add another finger, moving in slow, deep strokes, curling just enough to make her gasp.
Her hips lift to meet my movements, her body utterly at my mercy, and it’s the sexiest thing I’ve ever seen.
I press kisses to her thighs, murmuring encouragement as I work her, my fingers never faltering.
“You feel incredible,” I tell her, my voice ragged. She’s so tight, so warm, and I can’t stop thinking about how it would feel to bury myself inside her. The thought sends a jolt of heat straight through me, and I know I’m teetering on the edge of control.
“Marcus,” she whispers, her voice breaking as she trembles against my hand. I move faster, harder, driving her closer to the edge until I feel her tighten around me, her cries filling the room as she falls apart.
This is it. I can’t hold back anymore.
“Fuck, Liv,” I mutter, pushing my jeans down, kicking them off along with my boxers. My cock is hard, straining, and I watch her eyes go wide as she looks at me. I crawl up the bed, settling between her thighs, and she bites her lip, looking almost shy.
“You’ve never been with an older man, have you?” I ask, and she shakes her head, swallowing hard.
I smirk, leaning down to kiss her stomach, trailing my lips lower and lower. “Then let me show you how it’s done.”
I spread her legs wider, lowering my head between her thighs. I lick her slowly, teasing her, and she cries out, her hips bucking up off the bed. I grip her thighs, holding her still as I take my time, circling her clit with my tongue, sucking gently. She’s soaking wet, her arousal coating my lips, and I groan, lapping up every drop.
“Marcus, please,” she begs, her voice a high, needy whine. Her hands are in my hair, pulling me closer, and I can feel her legs trembling.
I look up at her, grinning. “You like that, baby?”
“Yes,” she gasps. “Please, don’t stop.”
I slide two fingers into her, curling them up, and she shatters, coming apart with a scream. Her walls clamp down on my fingers, and I feel her pulse around me, her entire body shaking with the force of her orgasm.
“Good girl,” I murmur, kissing my way back up her body. I position myself at her entrance, rubbing the head of my cock against her folds, teasing her. She looks up at me, her eyes glassy with lust.
“Tell me you want this,” I say, my voice barely more than a growl.
“I want it,” she breathes. “I want you.”
That’s all I need. I thrust into her in one long, deep stroke, and we both moan, the sound echoing through the room. She’s so tight, so warm, and I have to fight to keep from coming right then and there.
“Fuck, Liv, you feel so good,” I rasp, pulling back and slamming into her again. Her nails rake down my back, leaving trails of fire in their wake, and it only makes me want her more.
I set a hard, punishing rhythm, watching her face as I fuck her. Her head is thrown back, her mouth open, and she’s making these desperate little sounds that drive me wild. I reach down, rubbing her clit with my thumb, and she shatters again, screaming my name as she clenches around me.
I can’t hold back anymore. I thrust into her one last time, burying myself deep as I come, spilling into her with a guttural groan. I collapse on top of her, both of us panting, slick with sweat.
We lie there for a moment, just catching our breath. Eventually, I roll off her, pulling her into my arms. She’s still trembling, her face buried against my chest, and I stroke her hair, pressing a kiss to the top of her head.
“You okay?” I ask softly.
She looks up at me, her cheeks flushed, her lips swollen. “More than okay,” she whispers.
I pull her down into a kiss, flipping us over so she’s beneath me again. Her breathless laughter turns to a gasp as I thrust into her once more, my movements slower this time, more deliberate. I want to take my time, to feel every inch of her, to make her understand how much I want her.
We shift again, her legs wrapping around my waist as I lift her off the bed, pressing her against the wall. Her fingers tangle in my hair, her moans muffled against my lips as I drive into her, my grip on her hips tightening.
Then we’re back on the bed, her hands gripping the headboard as I move behind her, my lips trailing down her spine. Her soft cries fill the room, and I can feel her unraveling beneath me, her body trembling with every thrust.
I don’t stop until we’re both completely spent, our bodies tangled together, our breaths mingling in the silence. As I pull her close, pressing a kiss to her temple, I realize this wasn’t just about the physical. It was something deeper, something that scares the hell out of me.
But right now, with Olivia in my arms, I don’t care.
The first thing I notice when I wake is the quiet. The room is bathed in the soft gray light of early morning, and for a moment, everything feels… perfect. My body aches pleasantly, a reminder of the night before, and my hand instinctively reaches for Olivia.
But it meets nothing but cold sheets.
My eyes snap open, and I turn my head toward the empty space beside me. The bed is rumpled, her scent lingering faintly in the air, but she’s gone.