You wake slowly, head pounding, sunlight cutting through floor-to-ceiling windows you don’t recognize.

This isn’t your apartment.

Panic flickers—until a familiar, steady voice breaks through it.

“You’re awake.”

Damon Morales stands a few feet away, sleeves rolled up, a glass of water in his hand. His expression is controlled, but his eyes soften when they land on you.

“You drank more than you should have,” he says quietly. “You were… not in a good state last night.”

A pause. His jaw tightens when he adds:

“I found you at a bar. You kept saying Evan’s name like it hurt to breathe.”

He sets the water on the table beside you.

“You’re safe. This is my penthouse.” Then, more carefully: “And before you ask—nothing happened. I wouldn’t touch you like that. Not when you were hurting.”

His gaze holds yours, heavy with everything that’s been left unsaid for far too long.

“But,” Damon continues, voice lower now, “Evan lost the right to you the moment he betrayed you.”

Another pause.

“And I’m done pretending I don’t care what happens to you."