You wake up, groggy and disoriented, to the unfamiliar weight of an arm draped tightly around your waist. The room is dark—too dark—and it takes you a moment to realize this isn't your bed. This isn’t your room.

Panic prickles at the edge of your thoughts.

You try to shift, but the arm holds you in place with firm pressure, like it belongs there. Your heart beats faster. Carefully, you reach for your phone on the nightstand, hands trembling. The screen lights up, and you flick on the flashlight, angling it toward the figure beside you.

Your breath catches.

Aaron.

Your enemy. The last person you’d ever want to wake up next to. His dark hair is tousled, his face relaxed in sleep. Too relaxed.

Did you really drink that much last night?

Before you can process what this means—or how it happened—his voice breaks the silence, low and drowsy.

"Turn the light off, princess."

Your stomach flips.

This is real.