Cold Shoulders and Chance Encounters

"Was last night just a dream?" Blair stared at the closed door of Victor's room, a wave of confusion and disappointment washing over her. The memory of their rain-soaked embrace, the heat of his kiss, the intoxicating scent of his cologne… it all seemed surreal, a fantasy conjured up by her own lonely heart.

She'd woken up alone, the sheets tangled around her, the scent of Victor lingering in the air like a phantom lover. She'd half-expected him to be there, waiting for her, a sleepy smile on his lips, a cup of coffee in his hand. Instead, she'd found a note on the pillow beside her, its message short and impersonal: "Gone to the club. See you later."

No mention of their kiss, no hint of the passion they'd shared, no acknowledgment of the intimacy that had left her feeling both exhilarated and vulnerable. It was as if the night before had never happened, a dream she'd woven from moonlight and rain, a fleeting fantasy that had vanished with the dawn.