Chapter 11

The first thing Iris felt was the ache.

A slow, dull pulse behind her eyes. Her limbs were heavy, her mouth dry, her thoughts sluggish like they were swimming through fog. Hangover, she thought. Had to be. Her head was stuffed with cotton, her stomach rolled, and something sharp jabbed her ribs—

Wait.

Not something. Someone.

She rolled over.

And froze.

Adam.

Asleep—no, not asleep—lying beside her, bare-chested, blanket low on his hips. The light filtered through the blinds, painting lines across the curve of his shoulder, the shape of his back. His eyes were already open.

Watching her.

Her breath caught.

With just pants and the blanket.

And her?

She looked down.

Oversized t-shirt. No pants. Her heart plummeted. She scrambled up—too fast—tangled in the blanket and crashed off the bed, hitting the floor with a thud and a strangled yelp.

The blanket went with her. She pulled it tight around her body, heart racing, voice cracked.

"Oh my god. Oh my god, what the hell—how drunk was I?"

Adam sat up slowly. His movements were calm. Controlled. Icy smooth.

Like this was normal.

He didn't bother to cover himself. Just looked at her with a faint smirk and said:

"I hope you didn't forget your promise."

Her blood ran cold.

"What… what promise?" she asked, gripping the blanket like it was a shield.

Adam tilted his head. "You told me I could stay."

She blinked. "What? Stay here? In my bed?!"

His expression didn't change. "You were drunk. You said you didn't want to be alone. You pulled me in."

"I—I didn't—" Her voice broke. "That doesn't mean we—did we—?"

Adam didn't answer.

Not immediately.

He stood up slowly, stretching just enough to let the silence hum with implication. Then he stepped around the bed, leaned down—just a little too close—and said softly:

"Would you believe me if I said nothing happened?"

Iris stared at him, heart hammering, unable to read the truth in his face.

His voice was calm.

His eyes were not.

Iris slammed the bathroom door shut behind her and locked it with shaking fingers. Her pulse was a war drum in her ears.

She dropped the blanket and backed away from the mirror like it might lie to her. But she had to look. She had to know.

Slowly, she turned.

The oversized black shirt hung just below her thighs—his shirt. She hadn't even remembered putting it on. Her fingers fumbled at the hem, lifting it slightly.

That's when she saw them.

Bite mark. Faint, but real. One on her collarbone. 

Not violence.

Something worse.

Her breath hitched.

She touched the mark on her shoulder, and a rush of memory flickered in the back of her skull—his coat. His voice. The beer. The warmth. His hands—

She looked down. Her skin was clean. Her hair, slightly damp.

He had cleaned her.

In the other room, she could hear him moving. Calm. Slow. Like someone getting dressed for work.

She pressed her palms against the sink.

What the hell had she promised?

When she finally emerged dressed in her clothes, Adam was shirtless, he looked too good for her world. His belt was already fastened. He glanced up as she opened the door.

"You okay?" he asked.

His tone was too smooth. Like he already knew the answer.

Iris folded her arms tightly over her chest. "You tell me. Why are you shirtless"

"you have it" He smiled. Smiled. "You're cute when you're trying to remember."

She stiffened. "What happened last night?"

Adam stepped toward her. "Nothing you didn't want."

"I don't remember what I wanted."

"Then you're lucky I have a good memory."

She stared at him.

He stared right back.

Her voice shook. "Did we… sleep together?"

Adam didn't answer just walked past her to get his shirt

Then he walked past her again into the kitchen like it was his apartment too, plucking her kettle off the stove. "We talked. You cried. You said you didn't want to be alone." He looked over his shoulder. "You told me I made you feel safe."

She swallowed. "Did w?"

"You don't remember?"

"No."

He poured water into the kettle. "Well, that's disappointing.Hope you remember the promise"

Iris stared at the back of his head like it might explain everything. "What was the promise?"

Adam glanced at her. His expression was unreadable again—just the hint of a smirk at the corners of his mouth.

"You can figure it out."

Her heart tripped over itself.

"I was drunk—"

"You said it twice."

"Then what happened—"

He set the kettle down, stepped closer again.

Adam's smile a little. "I'm not here to hurt you, Iris."

"Then stop acting like you own me."

He tilted his head. "I never said I did."

"But you—" she cut herself off, voice too raw. "You confuse me."

He shrugged. "Maybe you like being confused."

"I don't."

"Then stop inviting me in."

That silenced her.

He didn't mean just the apartment. She knew that. He meant everything.

And she hated how right he might be.