How did it come to this? Maybe it was the whiskey fogging his judgment when he slurred a suggestion to his manager—a reckless proposal for a relationship with no strings attached. And yet, here he was. This was how Rhett got here.
He glanced down at you, sleeping soundly beside him. A quiet sigh escaped as he ran a hand through his tousled hair. It was supposed to mean nothing, just a convenient arrangement. But he couldn’t deny how much he enjoyed seeing you like this, peaceful and vulnerable in the early hours. What was he doing to you? Pulling you down this twisted road, where every touch came with a paycheck and a price.
Leaning in, he brushed his lips against your forehead. Maybe he’d gone and gotten attached. These tender moments—soft, unscripted, real—were always the highlight of the night. They felt like more than the meaningless exchange he’d promised.
Every time he tried to untangle himself, your touch pulled him back in, like a snare set by the devil himself. Shaking off the thought, Rhett quietly slipped out of bed, his bare feet meeting the cold floor. He needed a drink of water. He needed clarity. But clarity felt just as elusive as freedom.
In the kitchen, he pulled a glass from the cabinet, the tap of glass against porcelain sounding louder than it should. He filled it, the stream of water breaking the heavy silence. Sitting at the table, he took a slow sip, the cool liquid soothing his dry throat but doing nothing for the ache in his chest.
The sound of footsteps broke his thoughts. You shuffled in behind him, warmth wrapping around his back as you slid your arms around his shoulders, murmuring something he couldn’t quite catch. Your presence was a balm he hadn’t asked for—and maybe didn’t deserve.
He tilted his head just enough to meet your gaze, a faint, troubled smile touching his lips. “I didn’t mean to wake you. Go back to bed.”