Did I just cheat?

Enzo's POV

My legs felt like jelly, a trembling weakness spreading through them until they gave out beneath me. I collapsed onto the floor like a sack of potatoes, my breath coming in short, shallow bursts. My mind reeled, the events of the past few minutes playing on an endless loop.

"What just happened?" I whispered to no one in particular, though the silence around me held no answers. My own voice felt distant, as if it belonged to someone else entirely.

Panic clawed at my chest, each frantic thought louder than the last. "Does this mean I've cheated on Doc Olivier?" My stomach churned at the very idea. "What am I going to do? How am I going to face him after this?" I shook my head as if to physically rid myself of the confusion. "It wasn't my fault—it was the stranger."

A cold shudder ran down my spine. I had no control over what happened. That man had come out of nowhere, invading my space, my body, my very breath. I couldn't let this ruin what Olivier and I were building. Our relationship had just begun, fragile yet promising, and I couldn't risk losing it over something I didn't initiate.

I needed to take action. First, I would check the locks on my door. Then, I'd make sure my windows were secure. Maybe I'd even talk to my landlord—if that man was a tenant here, I needed to know. That would make things easier... or worse.

Dragging myself up from the floor, I forced my legs to carry me to the bathroom. The feeling of dampness between my legs made my stomach tighten. "Great," I muttered. "Another shower."

I stripped off my clothes with tired, unsteady fingers, tossing them into the laundry basket without a second thought. The hot water cascaded over me, washing away the evidence of what had transpired, but not the memory. No matter how hard I scrubbed, I could still feel the phantom pressure of his hands, the way his lips had moved against mine with a dangerous kind of ownership.

I turned off the water and stepped out, reaching for a towel. There was no energy left in me for the usual nighttime routine. No lotion, no extra steps—just sleep. I had an early shift tomorrow, and if I didn't get some rest, I'd be a wreck.

Slipping into a fresh set of pajamas, I tossed the soiled ones into the laundry basket and collapsed into bed. I squeezed my eyes shut, willing myself into unconsciousness. But sleep refused to come.

The night played out behind my closed lids like a twisted movie reel. His hands—massive, strong. His lips—hot and possessive. The way he had stroked me as if he had every right to... My breath hitched. My heart pounded. It was all amazing.

"What the fuck am I saying?" My eyes shot open, staring at the ceiling in horror. "I'm out of my mind. How can I find what he did to me amazing?"

I needed help.

---

Morning arrived without mercy. My body ached with exhaustion, my mind even more so. No sleep, just endless replaying of what had happened.

I forced myself out of bed, rubbing my tired eyes before heading to the bathroom for another long shower. The water felt good against my skin, but it did nothing to cleanse the guilt—or the lingering sensation of his touch.

After drying off, I tossed my dirty clothes into the laundry machine and applied lotion with slow, robotic movements. The mirror caught my eye, and I frowned, stepping closer.

My lips. Swollen.

"Fuck."

Doc Olivier would notice. What would I say? That an ant bit me? That I had no idea how it happened?

I groaned and buried my face in my palms. My reflection mocked me. Lying to Olivier wasn't what I wanted to do, but what choice did I have?

With a sigh, I got dressed in my work uniform, combed my hair, and styled it with gel. I moved through my apartment sluggishly, heading toward the kitchen with an odd expectation settling in my chest.

Would he have made breakfast for me?

The thought made me freeze. Why did I think that? Why did I feel the smallest pang of disappointment when I saw the empty counter? It wasn't like I would have eaten anything he made. It wasn't like I... enjoyed the attention.

Shaking the thoughts away, I moved to the coffee machine, pouring myself a much-needed cup. Sleep deprivation and emotional turmoil weren't a good mix.

The sound of the doorbell yanked me out of my spiraling thoughts.

I frowned. Who could be visiting me so early?

With hesitation, I opened the door, and my breath hitched.

Doc Olivier stood there, looking as handsome as ever. His warm brown eyes studied me, his lips curved in a soft smile.

"Good morning, sweetheart."

My face heated instantly.

"Good morning, Doc Olivier," I replied, flustered. I probably looked like a tomato.

"Can I come in?"

Fuck me.

"Yes, please. I'm sorry." I stepped aside, allowing him in.

He turned to face me, his expression filled with something deeper. "I thought, since you're my boyfriend now, it's my duty to pick you up and drop you off every day."

My heart skipped a beat. I barely had time to process before he took a step closer, invading my space. His fingers brushed my lips, tracing the swollen skin.

"Enzo..." he murmured, his eyes dark with concern.

"Yes, Doc?" My voice barely above a whisper. I wanted to pull away, but I couldn't. I craved his touch.

"Why are your lips swollen?" His fingers dropped to his side, his gaze locked onto mine.

I swallowed thickly. "I don't know. I woke up with it this way."

A lie. A necessary one. If I told him the truth, he'd never believe me. He'd think I cheated, and I hadn't—not willingly.

He hummed thoughtfully. "Maybe I kissed you too hard yesterday."

I forced a smile. "Maybe."

His thumb returned to my lips, tracing the curve before trailing down to my neck. And then, he kissed me.

It was sweet, affectionate. But...

It wasn't the same.

My breath hitched. My stomach twisted. Why was I comparing his kiss to the stranger's?

Guilt slammed into me.

Olivier pulled back, his brows furrowed. "Enzo, where are your thoughts? Your body is here, but your mind is somewhere else."

Panic flickered across my face before I masked it with a smile. I reached up, smoothing the crease between his brows with my thumb before pressing a gentle kiss to his lips. "I'm sorry. It's nothing to worry about."

"Are you sure?"

I nodded, though I wasn't sure at all.

His hands found my waist, pulling me close. "If you keep looking at me like that, we might not make it to work."

I laughed, shoving his chest playfully. "Oh shit—my coffee!"

Rushing to the kitchen, I poured two cups and handed him one.

"Thank you." He took a sip, his eyes lingering on me.

I swallowed hard.

How long could I keep this secret?