The Morning After

Berlin felt like she was in a dream and she was floating, drifting between reality and something unknown.

A dull ache pulsed in her lower body, and instinctively, she shifted her legs. The soreness was unfamiliar, yet strangely not unwelcome. Then, a deep voice whispered near her ear, laced with something possessive, something unshakable.

"Be mine…"

A shiver ran through her.

Berlin listened and he made his way inside her.

Without any more delay, he slowly slid his member into her core. Berlin moaned softly as she searched for something her fingers could grab.

He began to move in and out of her, slowly after he broke her hymen. The hardest part was done and now he could move in and out of her, even though there was still a little restriction.

He kept thrusting into her, groaning.

Berlin moaned in ecstasy.

"Aaah..."

They both felt electrified. With a continued hard thrust, Berlin felt a Kiss fall on her lips.

With a steady rhythm, the pain slowly disappeared. A great pleasure was sent down her spine and she continued to moan...

It became calm again after what had happened. It felt like an eternity.

Her body felt heavy, and sore in places she couldn't explain. The lingering scent of sandalwood and something distinctly masculine filled the air.

The consciousness of Berlin returned to her little by little, and she felt the pain and pleasure she had experienced in her body.

Her eyelids fluttered open, revealing a ceiling adorned with intricate wooden carvings. For a moment, she simply stared, a strange sense of familiarity washing over her. The patterns—so detailed, so precise—tugged at something buried deep in her mind. Why did they feel so… known?

Then the realization hit her.

'She was naked.'

A gasp escaped her lips as she bolted upright, only to wince immediately. A sharp pain shot through her, her muscles aching in ways they never had before. She clutched the blanket tightly against her chest, her heart pounding.

Memories flashed through her mind—blurred images, whispers of emotions she couldn't fully grasp. The wedding celebration, the clinking of glasses, the soft laughter… and then darkness.

Her breathing grew uneven as she turned her head, and her stomach twisted at the sight before her.

Lying beside her was a man.

Not just any man.

'Callous Wayne.'

Her lips parted in shock, but no sound came. Her pulse raced as she took in his features—the sharp jawline, the tousled dark hair, the way his long lashes rested against his cheeks. Even in sleep, he exuded an air of dominance, as if the world itself bent to his will.

Berlin swallowed hard. Why did this feel so eerily familiar? The scene, his presence, the lingering ache in her body—it was as though she had lived this moment before. But that was impossible. Wasn't it?

Her fingers trembled as she touched her collarbone, feeling the unmistakable indentations of love bites. Her breath hitched. Had they…?

Before she could fully process it, Callous stirred. A soft exhale left his lips as his brows furrowed slightly. Then, as if sensing her gaze, his eyes snapped open.

Deep, piercing, unreadable gaze.

Berlin's breath caught in her throat. There was something cold in his stare, something that sent an uneasy shiver down her spine. But for the briefest of moments—just a flicker—there was something else. Something softer.

Then it vanished.

His face hardened as he sat up, running a hand through his hair. His voice, when he spoke, was as sharp as a blade.

"Berlin, what are you still doing here?"

Berlin's heart clenched.

The same words. The same cold tone.

Her fingers gripped the sheets tighter as a wave of déjà vu crashed over her. This had happened before. She was sure of it.

But how?

A sickening sense of familiarity gnawed at her. In another life—another time—he had spoken these exact words, in this exact place, with the same detached indifference. She could almost hear the echo of her younger self's heart breaking all over again.

No.

She refused to be that woman anymore.

A slow breath steadied her as she met his gaze, her expression carefully blank. "It doesn't matter," she said, forcing her voice to remain even. "I was just leaving."

She gathered the blanket around herself and moved to stand, ignoring the soreness in her limbs. Every part of her screamed at her to run, to get out before he shattered her completely.

Callous watched her, his eyes narrowing slightly. There was something different about her—something he couldn't quite place.

"It doesn't matter?" he echoed, his voice tinged with an emotion she couldn't decipher.

Berlin ignored him, stepping away from the bed. But before she could take another step, his hand shot out, wrapping firmly around her wrist.

Her breath hitched.

"What's your game this time?" he asked, his tone unreadable.

Berlin turned to face him, her heart pounding in her chest. His grip was firm, not painful, but it sent a current through her that unsettled her deeply.

"No game" she murmured. "I just don't want to waste my time anymore."

Callous's eyes darkened. He pulled her slightly closer, his face mere inches from hers.

"Is it?" he asked in a tone that made Berlin shudder with fear.

For a moment, neither spoke. The air between them crackled with something unspoken, something heavy, confusing. Berlin didn't dare move, afraid of what she might see in his eyes.

"Let me go, Callous! Why would you even want to be close to someone like me?

Then, just as quickly as he had grabbed her, he let go.

Berlin staggered back slightly, her breathing uneven. She turned without another word, determined to leave.

But just as she reached for the door, his voice stopped her in her tracks.

"Is that what you think of yourself?"

She froze, her fingers tightening around the fabric of the blanket.

'What did he mean by that?'

Slowly, she turned her head, meeting his gaze once more. His expression was unreadable, but there was something there; something that made her chest tighten.

He saw how her gaze was burning with needed explanation and hurt. But he ignored her

Berlin's throat felt dry. She forced a small, bitter smile.

"Good day!"

For a moment, Callous said nothing. Then, he scoffed, shaking his head slightly.

"You're full of surprises, Berlin."

She didn't respond. She didn't trust herself to. Instead, she turned away once more, stepping out of the room without looking back.

As the door clicked shut behind her, she pressed a hand to her chest, trying to steady her heartbeat. Everything about this felt wrong, too familiar, too much like something she had already lived through.

She needed to clear her head.

As she walked down the dimly lit hallway, she whispered to herself, barely audible

"Why does this feel like I've been here before?..."

Back in the room, Callous remained seated on the bed, his fingers absentmindedly running through his hair. His gaze fell on the bed where it was stained red.

Something flashed in his dark orbs. Something odd. He ignored the stain and finished getting cleaned up. He remembered how they both entered his room drunk.

Something was different about her.

Something was unsettling.

And for the first time in his life, Callous Wayne felt something entirely foreign.

'Why is she acting weird? What is her end game?' he thought to himself.