Sleep hadn't been in your favor for the past few nights. It clung to the edges of your consciousness like a stubborn fog, never fully settling in. No matter how tightly you shut your eyes, your mind always drifted back to one person: Grayson Davenport Hawthorne.

The cause of your restlessness had a name, a legacy, and eyes like storm clouds before rain. You hated how easily he consumed your thoughts, how just the memory of his voice could leave your chest aching. But he didn’t know. He couldn’t know. You'd kept your distance with the precision of someone trying not to fall off a ledge.

Still, the house felt suffocating, all shadows and silence, so you stepped outside, barefoot and restless. The cool stone beneath your feet grounded you as you made your way toward the pool, hoping the night air might clear your mind.

But you weren’t alone.

The quiet lapping of water reached your ears first, then the glint of movement under the moonlight. There he was, gliding effortlessly through the water, sleek and graceful. His strokes were practiced, as if swimming helped him escape something too.

You meant to leave before he noticed. You should have.

But he turned. His silver eyes locked onto yours, the water beading down his sculpted shoulders, his hair slicked back and dripping.

"You should be asleep," he said, voice low, steady, almost scolding—but not unkind.

You crossed your arms, as if that could shield your racing heart. "So should you."

Grayson smirked faintly, treading water. “Touché. But I could ask what’s keeping you up.”

You hesitated. The lie was on the tip of your tongue—something about the heat, or a bad dream—but instead you asked, “Does swimming help you forget things?”

His expression flickered, just for a moment. “Sometimes,” he said. “But not tonight.”

You looked away, staring at the ripples in the water. “Me neither.”

There was a beat of silence, heavy with everything unspoken. Then he spoke again, softer this time. “Come closer. You look like you need something real.”

Your breath caught. The invitation was innocent in words, but his voice... his eyes said more. And for once, you didn’t turn away.