Chapter 12

Sienna's POV

I don't even remember getting home.

One second, I was walking out of Cassian's apartment, and the next?

I was in an Uber.

Staring blankly out the window, my brain short-circuiting, my body still tingling with the echoes of what had just happened.

What the fuck just happened?

It kept replaying in my head, over and over like a broken record.

The way he guided me down.

The way I followed like a brain-dead, hand-obsessed lunatic.

The way my tongue had barely touched him—

And then, boom.

Fucking fireworks.

I blinked, finally snapping out of it as the Uber slowed in front of my building.

I grabbed my bag, muttered a quick thanks, and hurried inside.

I didn't turn on the lights. Didn't even stop.

I went straight for the bathroom, turned on the shower, and stood there, absentmindedly stripping, still lost in the absolute chaos of the night.

Then, I made the mistake of looking in the mirror.

And froze.

Because—oh my god.

Oh my actual god.

I was covered.

Cassian's cum.

In my hair.

On my forehead.

On my goddamn cheek.

I looked like a Christmas tree decorated with some unholy white holiday lights.

I grabbed my face, horrified.

Had the Uber light been off? Had my front door light been off?

Did anyone—oh my god, did anyone see me like this?

I snatched a tissue, furiously wiping my face, trying not to die inside.

And then—because apparently, I was an idiot—

I paused.

Stared at the tissue.

And in one of the dumbest decisions of my life,

I took a tiny dollop.

And tasted it.

The Taste of Questionable Choices

It was…

Salty.

Kind of bitter, but not as bad as I expected.

A little thick, but not horrible.

Not good, either.

Just… there.

I immediately regretted it.

Because what the actual fuck was I doing?

I grabbed my toothbrush like it was a weapon, brushing my teeth with the force of someone trying to erase a crime.

Then, I stepped under the hot spray of the shower and stood there.

Processing.

What.

The.

Fuck.

Had.

I.

Just.

Done.

Conclusion: I Am a Moron

I was so dumb.

So stupid.

So far gone.

And the worst part?

I had no idea what came next.

I considered quitting.

For a full hour that morning, I sat on my bed, staring at my phone, wondering how much money I had saved and if I could afford to move to another country.

Because there was no way in hell I could face Cassian today.

Not after—that.

Not after I had left his apartment with his cum in my hair like some unholy war paint.

Not after I had—God help me—tasted it.

I wanted to die.

But I couldn't.

Because this project was too important.

People had been working on it for months, and today was one of the biggest presentations we'd ever done.

I had no choice.

So I got dressed, pulled my hair into a no-nonsense bun, put on my most professional outfit, and went to work.

The second I walked in, my stomach twisted into a knot.

Cassian was already there, standing with a group of engineers, talking numbers, acting like nothing had happened.

Like he hadn't come so hard on me.

Like I hadn't run away like a lunatic.

He glanced at me as I walked past, his face completely unreadable.

No smirk. No teasing glint in his eyes.

Nothing.

Like it was just another day.

I exhaled slowly.

Okay. Fine.

If he was going to act normal, so was I.

So I squared my shoulders, walked over, and forced my voice to sound steady.

"We're still waiting on the revised material estimates, but the investor wants a full risk assessment before the final green light," I said, flipping through my tablet. "That means a detailed breakdown, including any additional structural costs if we make adjustments."

Cassian nodded, barely looking at me. "I'll have Damien run the numbers. If the steel reinforcement changes, we'll need to check the load calculations again."

One of the engineers, Todd, nodded. "I'll double-check the calculations. If we adjust the cantilever design, we might reduce costs."

I breathed.

This was fine. This was normal.

This was exactly what I needed.

So I nodded like I wasn't still haunted by my own terrible decisions, and we went back to work.

The meeting lasted an hour.

An hour of strictly professional talk, no weird tension, no accidental glances at his hands, no flashbacks to my sins.

We reviewed load distribution, budget allocations, scheduling constraints—actual, important things.

And for a moment?

I let myself believe it was over.

That last night was a fluke.

That Cassian wasn't thinking about it either.

That we could move forward like nothing happened.

Because we had to.

Because there was no other choice.