Yvaine tried to deny it, but failed.
Then she let out a weird giggle.
‘I may have started seeing someone. Just casually. Definitely not living together. I’ve just been busy, that’s all.’
‘Wait, what?’ I sat forward. ‘Who is he?’
She pulled out her phone and shoved the screen in my face.
A selfie of a baby-faced guy with ridiculously symmetrical features stared back at me. Full lips. Strong brows. Zero pores.
I squinted. ‘I’ve seen him before. Isn’t he one of those online boys who lip-sync and flex shirtless?’
‘That’s him,’ she said, beaming. ‘He’s got two hundred K followers.’
‘Is he actually that good-looking in real life? Or is it just lighting and filters? And isn’t he, like, eighteen? What the hell does an eighteen-year-old want from you if not your Amex?’
Yvaine rolled her eyes. ‘He’s twenty-one. Three years younger than me. Still in uni. And yes, I’ve seen him in person—he looks even better. No filters. No scams. And before you say anything, no, he hasn’t asked me for money. But if he ever does, I’ve got more than enough. I don’t mind paying a little for emotional support. He’s cute, he’s clingy without being annoying, he doesn’t sulk, and the stamina...’ She fanned her face. ‘Trust me. I know what I’m doing.’
‘So you just weren’t going to tell me?’ I leaned back and crossed my arms. ‘What if he’s some Cassian knockoff and you’re just using him to get back at your ex?’
Yvaine looked mildly offended, which meant I was right. Discover more novels at novel~fire~net
‘I was going to tell you eventually.’
‘You’d better. Next time, bring him out. I want a proper look before you start letting him stay over.’
‘He’s not staying over,’ she said quickly. ‘Anyway, he’s studying film. Got a decent following online. He wants to be in the industry eventually. It’s not serious. I’m just... having fun. That’s all.’
I hoped that was true, for her sake.
Later that night, I got home and instantly regretted it.
My bedroom was freezing.
I circled it twice, rubbing my arms.
The vent in the corner made a quiet clicking sound, but it wasn’t blowing warm air.
I checked the guest rooms.
I stood in the hallway, weighing my options—sofa or hotel—when a voice rang out behind me.
‘Planning to sleep on the sofa to avoid sharing a bed with me? What do you think I’m going to do to you?’
I jumped and grabbed the bannister.
My heel slipped on the edge of the step, and I nearly cracked my tailbone on marble.
Ashton was leaning against his doorframe, hair slightly damp.
That lazy posture didn’t match his voice.
‘You’re terrified of me now?’
I smiled like nothing about this was awkward. ‘I was just trying not to disturb your sleep.’
‘So considerate. Planning to get pneumonia in the living room?’
‘The living room’s warm,’ I said, glancing at the first floor. Lying through my teeth.
Ashton walked towards me.
He didn’t stop until I was boxed in between the bannister and him. Not touching me, but close enough that I could feel the heat off his skin.
‘What’s the issue? Worried I’ll try something?’
I backed into the bannister, spine stiff against the polished wood.
My elbows bumped the top rail as I tilted backwards, trying to keep some air between us.
I was bent halfway into a backbend like a folding chair.
He caught my arm and tugged me upright again.
‘What’s this? Staircase yoga?’
I glared up at him and bit out, ‘I’m not scared of you.’
He gave me a smile that didn’t reach his eyes. ‘Then why are you acting like I’ve got fangs?’
‘I’m not. I’m just standing here. You’re the one who’s crowding into my space.’
His eyes scanned my face, slow and knowing. He laughed under his breath. ‘You’re bricking it. And now you’re pretending you’re not.’
That smug look made my throat tighten.
I took a step forward.
I stepped again, into his space this time.
‘We’re both adults,’ I said, chin up. ‘What exactly am I supposed to be afraid of?’
He lifted his brows, didn’t answer, but that smirk pulled wider.
This time, he stepped back.
One slow pace, like he was humouring me. Like he could’ve stood his ground easily, but didn’t need to.
‘So... not scared I’ll try something?’
‘Obviously not,’ I snapped.
He chuckled and reached for my wrist, fingers warm around my skin. ‘Come on then.’
He led me into his bedroom.
The bed was oversized, duvet crisp and tucked in perfectly, pillows piled invitingly at the head.
‘Right,’ I said. ‘Shower time.’
I grabbed my stuff and ducked into the en-suite.
After a quick shower, I wiped down the counter and hung the towel, even pushed stray hairs into the bin.
I didn’t leave a single thing out of place.
When I came out, he was in the low armchair by the bed, a tablet on his lap.
He didn’t look up, but I caught the flicker in his eyes.
I went for full-coverage cotton pyjamas tonight, top buttoned up to my throat, hem tucked neatly into the waistband.
I dried my hair with a towel and nodded towards the en-suite. ‘I’m done. Go ahead.’
‘Want help with your hair?’
He got up and walked past me into the bathroom.
The door shut behind him with a soft click.
When he came out, his hair was damp and pushed back.
He’d swapped the suit for a black T-shirt and drawstring trousers.
I was already in bed, pressed against the far edge like there was a border patrol on my left.
I kept my eyes open. Barely.
Still, I made a point of being awake when he came out.
He dimmed the lights to a low orange glow and climbed in on his side.
‘Want to put a glass of water in the middle? Maybe a laser tripwire?’