The house had gone still, swallowed in that suffocating silence that only comes deep into the night. Every creak of wood, every hum of the air felt too loud against the pounding of your heartbeat. You’d been lying there for what felt like hours, restless, sheets twisted around your legs, body betraying you — trembling, wet, aching from the way he’d left you earlier.

Your chest rose and fell unevenly, bruises still burning where his mouth had claimed you. You kept running your fingertips over them, brushing the swollen marks like they were dangerous, forbidden. He’d promised you the night. You’d whispered yes.