The shrill sound of my alarm tore through the silence of the room, dragging me from the deep, much-needed sleep I had barely gotten. I sat up, my body protesting as I yawned, still heavy with exhaustion. I glanced at the time—10:00 AM.
My heart skipped when my phone buzzed in my hand. It was Riley.
I answered, and she babbled on about her shift, her voice light and casual, but my mind was already elsewhere.
As soon as she hung up, I breathed a silent sigh of relief.
I didn't have to work today. For once, I was free. I didn't have to worry about Mr. Lance or disgusting customers or anything else.
I could have a moment to myself, just a few hours where I wasn't trapped in that place.
I quickly cut the call and tossed my phone onto the bed, letting the silence settle over me. It felt rare, this stillness.
I dragged myself out of bed, my body stiff, sore from the previous nights.
My mind was a haze, a storm of thoughts I didn't want to face yet. First, I needed to shower, to scrub away the grime of the past few days.
The hot water hit my skin like a slap, washing away the tension that had been building up for weeks. When I finally stepped out, I followed my routine, the one that had become second nature over the past month—skincare, hair care, the motions I performed without even thinking. It was all I could do to stay grounded.
Today, I wasn't dressing for anyone. Not for Mr. Lance, not for the customers, not even for myself. I needed something easy.
I pulled on a fitted white crop top, high-waisted jeans that clung to my curves, and threw on a white and black flannel. Sneakers, simple but comfortable. I left my hair down, two pieces of it clipped behind my ears, the rest hanging loose around my face.
I didn't want makeup today. Just some lip gloss to hide the dryness that had settled on my lips from too many sleepless nights.
As I smacked my lips, checking myself in the mirror, I felt... nothing.
The reflection staring back at me was a stranger—someone I didn't recognize anymore, someone who had been to hell and back and still kept moving forward.
Downstairs, the house was empty. Mom was already gone. As usual.
She worked herself to the bone at that damn clinic.
It paid nothing, but it was all she had. I hated seeing her like that—worn out, tired, just barely scraping by. I promised myself I'd take care of everything. The bills. The rent. The life she didn't have the strength to fight for anymore.
That's why I worked at the club. It wasn't glamorous, but it was the only option that worked. And I couldn't risk losing it. Not for anyone.
I grabbed my purse and left without a plan.
I needed space, air. So, I headed to Isaac's.
His place had become a second home to me, a place where I didn't have to pretend to be anything other than myself.
We spent hours talking, just being in each other's presence, and for a brief moment, the weight of everything else fell away.
We both knew there was something there between us—something unspoken, something thick and heavy—but neither of us were ready to admit it. Not yet.
"Stay a little longer," Isaac begged, his fingers playfully tugging at my arm, pulling me toward him with a childlike grin. "Come on, just a few more minutes."
I laughed, shaking my head. "You know my mom would kill me if I stayed."
He pouted, looking every bit the adorable mess he was, and for a second, I almost gave in. "I haven't seen her all day, not even Maliya," he added, his voice softening.
I smiled, but my resolve held firm. "Yeah, I guess you're right. I should go."
But then, just as I was about to stand, Isaac pulled something out from behind his couch, his grin turning wicked. "But if you leave now, you won't get to see this," he teased, pulling out my favorite movie.
The one I'd been dying to see—the remake of Cruel Intentions.
My heart skipped a beat. "No way. You're trying to blackmail me with this, aren't you?"
"Maybe," he said, a mischievous smile playing on his lips.
I rolled my eyes but couldn't suppress my grin. "You know that's not fair," I said, half-laughing, but already debating whether or not to stay.
Then, Isaac's gaze fell on something else—a journal, tucked under the edge of the couch.
He picked it up with a raised eyebrow. "What's this? Is this your diary?"
My stomach dropped. "No!" I shouted, instantly trying to snatch it from his hands, but he stepped back, a mischievous grin spreading across his face.
"Give it back, Isaac," I warned, my pulse quickening.
He was toying with me, and I hated how much I loved it.
He ran, the journal clutched tight in his hands, and I gave chase, the adrenaline making my heart race faster than my feet could keep up.
We darted around the room, laughing, until we both collapsed on the bed, breathless.
"Don't touch it," I said, my voice half-laughing, half-serious, as he reached for the book again. "Seriously."
He paused, looking at me, and then, out of nowhere, his hand brushed a strand of my hair from my face, his fingers lingering just a moment too long.
The playful tension in the room shifted, thickening, becoming something else entirely. His eyes locked with mine, and for a second, everything else disappeared.
"I love spending time with you," he murmured, his voice low, the words hanging between us like a secret.
I smiled, but it felt fragile, like I was walking on the edge of something I couldn't undo. "Me too."
And then, without warning, he leaned in.
His lips met mine—soft, slow, like he was testing the waters, unsure if this was a step too far. But I didn't hesitate. I kissed him back, every ounce of restraint slipping away as the heat between us ignited.