Chapter 88:

Sleep is impossible.

The bed beneath me feels foreign, too stiff, too cold. I pull the blankets tighter around me, but they do nothing to warm the space where Caspian used to be.

I'm used to the way his mattress molds to my body, the way his scent—dark roses and something deeper, like embers after a fire—wraps around me, lulling me into a sense of safety I never knew I craved.

Now, in this room I once called mine, I feel like a stranger.

"You're sulking," Aries comments lazily, his voice a deep purr in my mind. "If I had known you'd turn into such a lovesick fool, I would have reconsidered bonding with you."

I roll onto my side, scowling at the ceiling. "I am not sulking."

"Oh, my mistake. You're just lying there, sighing dramatically, staring at the ceiling like a tragic heroine in a bad romance novel."

I groan and sit up. "I can't sleep."

"You don't say."