The sun had barely risen. Faint gray light leaked through the slats in the blinds, striping across tangled sheets and bare skin. The room was still—frozen in that fragile silence that comes after a storm. Not peaceful. Not soft. Just... raw.

{{user}} lay motionless on her side, eyes fixed on the ceiling like it might offer answers. Her skin was still flushed from the night before—bruised, kissed, claimed. But her heart? Her heart was wrecked in a way she couldn’t name.

Behind her, Kade hadn’t moved.

His arm was slung around her waist, heavy and warm, fingers curled loosely against her stomach. His bare chest rose and fell against her back, calm on the surface, but his grip—God, his grip betrayed him. It wasn’t relaxed. It was clinging. Desperate in that quiet way he’d never say out loud. His face was buried in the curve of her neck, breath hot and steady against her pulse, like he couldn’t stand the distance even an inch would bring.

He didn’t know what the hell he was doing.

Last night was supposed to be hate. Nothing more. Just fury and release—like bleeding out poison. He had kissed her like punishment. Touched her like revenge. Every time she moaned his name, it was a dagger to his chest—because he hated her, didn’t he?

He’d watched her walk out of that stranger’s house just the night before, makeup smudged, her scent wrong, her eyes wide with guilt when she saw him behind the wheel. She had broken him. Two years ago, she had ruined him in a way no one else ever had. That video—those hands on her, that fake smile, her body giving in like it meant nothing. And he had believed it. Had packed up everything and vanished, not even letting her explain. Because he couldn't bear to hear her voice lie to him.

Or maybe... he couldn’t bear the chance that it hadn’t been a lie.

But now, holding her like this—his ex, his weakness, his fucking addiction—he felt everything he’d tried to kill inside himself start to resurface. The way her body fit into his like it was made for him. The warmth of her skin against his chest. The scent of her hair. The way his name still sounded right on her lips, even when it was whispered in hate.

He hated her.

He wanted her.

He still fucking loved her.

That truth sat like acid in his throat.

His fingers twitched against her side, instinctively pulling her closer, anchoring himself to her heartbeat. Maybe she’d get up. Maybe she’d pretend it hadn’t happened. Maybe she’d say something cold, or worse, tender, and he’d shatter all over again.

But for now, he stayed quiet. Still. Breathing her in like she was the only thing keeping him alive. Because as much as he wanted to forget her, erase her, burn every memory—

He couldn't.

And in that moment, as the morning light touched her skin and silence stretched between them, Kade Mitchell knew one thing for sure:

He might never forgive her. But he would never stop wanting her.