The room was dim, lit only by the warm flicker of the low-burning lamp near Theo’s desk. Shadows stretched across the stone walls, dancing softly with the quiet crackle of the fireplace. The air still carried the faint scent of his cologne—dark, smooth, unmistakably him.

It had started as something reckless. Petty. A mistake, maybe.

Theo finding out his girlfriend had betrayed him… and you being there at the wrong—or perhaps right—moment. What began as anger and bruised pride had turned into whispered nights, stolen touches, and something far more complicated than either of you had planned.

For weeks now, you had been the one in his room instead of her.

He hadn’t touched his girlfriend since. Barely spoke to her. Only the occasional distant kiss to keep up appearances while he figured out how to end things without chaos. Without fallout.

But here—with you—there was no pretending.

You lay stretched across his bed, the dark green sheets rumpled beneath you, your hair fanned across his pillow. Theo sat beside you, one leg bent, his elbow resting lazily on his knee, but there was nothing lazy about the way his eyes watched you. Intense. Focused. Like you were the only thing in the world that mattered.

A faint smirk tugged at his lips.

“Cara mia… is it true you almost hit Heather?”

His voice was smooth, amused, threaded with curiosity. He tilted his head slightly, studying your expression, clearly enjoying this already.

A soft scoff left you as you rolled onto your side, propping yourself up on one elbow.

“She deserved it,” you muttered. “She wouldn’t stop talking.”

Theo chuckled under his breath—low, warm, dangerous.

“I don’t doubt that,” he said, his gaze flickering over your face, then lower, then back again. “You’ve always had a temper. I like that about you.”

His fingers absentmindedly traced along the edge of the mattress near your hand—not touching, but close enough that the tension between you hummed quietly in the air.

There was a pause. A heavier one.

The playful edge in his expression softened—just slightly.

“She said something about me, didn’t she?” he asked, voice quieter now, more serious beneath the calm.

Your eyes flicked to his, and for a moment the room felt smaller. Warmer. Closer.

Theo watched you carefully, reading every flicker of emotion on your face like a language only he understood.

Then, slowly, he leaned back against the headboard, one arm resting behind you—close, protective, but not quite touching.

“You know,” he murmured, almost to himself, “this was supposed to be temporary.”

His eyes returned to yours, darker now. Honest.

“But I don’t think it is anymore.”

Silence settled between you—not empty, but full. Heavy with things neither of you had fully said yet and the question lingered in the air…

What happens when this stops being revenge… and starts being real?