Silence took over the hallway after Colt's laugh.
Neither of them moved.
Neither of them seemed willing to speak first.
Trinidad was still trying to process the impossible fact that Colt Clifford could laugh like a normal human being.
He, on the other hand, looked mildly offended that it had happened.
Then his expression turned unreadable again.
"Sleep in my room tonight."
Her eyes widened.
"What?"
He said it as casually as if asking for water.
"You heard me."
"No."
She answered too quickly.
Too firmly.
Too proudly.
Colt took one slow step closer.
He didn't touch her.
Didn't raise his voice.
Didn't threaten her.
But there was something in his eyes.
A quiet command.
A dark certainty that made her heartbeat stumble.
And somehow—
Ten minutes later, Trinidad was standing inside his room.
She hated herself.
The room was colder at night.
The dark aesthetic looked softer under the warm bedside lamps. Shadows stretched across the walls, and the city lights outside painted silver lines through the curtains.
Colt had already changed into black sleep pants and a loose shirt.
Even dressed for sleep, he looked unfairly handsome.
Trinidad clutched one of the extra pillows like a weapon.
"I'm only here because we're pretending," she muttered.
He didn't even look at her.
"Keep telling yourself that."
Monster.
She climbed into the massive bed from the farthest side possible.
Then she placed a pillow barrier between them.
Then another.
Then adjusted the blanket.
Then shifted six inches farther away.
Then looked at him suspiciously.
Colt finally glanced over.
"Building a wall?"
"Security."
"You think highly of yourself."
"I think accurately of men."
He gave no reply.
The room fell quiet again.
For a while, only the ticking clock and distant city sounds filled the space.
Trinidad lay on her side, eyes open.
She could feel his presence beside her even without looking.
It was irritating.
And strangely comforting.
"Colt?"
A low hum answered.
She hesitated.
"What were you like before all this?"
His gaze moved to the ceiling.
"All what?"
"The cold face. The arrogance. The whole… devil package."
He turned his head slowly.
"That's a lot of words from someone who should be sleeping."
"I'm curious."
"That's dangerous."
She waited.
To her surprise, he spoke.
"I was loud."
She blinked.
"What?"
"When I was younger. I laughed more. Trusted more."
His voice was calm, but something deep and old lived beneath it.
"What changed?"
"People."
The single word carried more weight than a full story.
She wanted to ask more.
About the photo.
About the scratched-out face.
About why pain seemed stitched into everything around him.
Instead she asked softly,
"Do you regret becoming who you are now?"
He was silent for a long time.
Then—
"Sometimes."
The honesty of it caught her off guard.
She rolled onto her back and stared at the ceiling too.
Maybe he wasn't made entirely of ice.
After a pause, Colt spoke.
"My turn."
She looked at him.
"What?"
"A question."
"Fine."
But when he turned toward her, he found her eyes closed.
Her breathing slow.
Peaceful.
She had fallen asleep.
He stared for a moment.
Then at the pillow barrier between them.
Ridiculous woman.
Carefully, he removed one pillow, then another.
He pulled the blanket higher around her shoulders.
A loose strand of hair had fallen across her face.
His fingers almost moved to brush it away.
Almost.
Instead, he lay back down.
Minutes later, for the first time in a long while, Colt Clifford slept without waking once.
Morning sunlight touched the city.
Reid MacPherson was already outside.
Jogging through the upscale neighborhood in a sleeveless gray top and black track pants, he moved with the easy confidence of someone who had never feared anything in his life.
His hair was damp with sweat.
His breathing steady.
His playlist loud enough to annoy the birds.
Then shouting broke through the music.
Reid stopped.
Down a side street, three men surrounded a girl near a brick wall.
One grabbed her wrist.
Another laughed.
The third reached for her bag.
Reid pulled out an earbud.
"You people are starting early."
The men turned.
One scoffed.
"Mind your business."
Reid smiled.
Wrong answer.
What happened next lasted less than a minute.
A punch.
A kick.
One man slipped into a trash can.
Another ran after taking one hit.
The last barely escaped with his dignity.
Reid dusted off his hands.
"Cardio complete."
The girl leaned against the wall, catching her breath.
Now that the chaos had settled, he truly saw her.
She wore combat boots, ripped black jeans, and an oversized jacket with rolled sleeves. Her style was rough, tomboyish, and effortlessly cool.
Her hair was tied in a messy ponytail.
There was blood on her lower lip.
Yet she stood straight like she'd fight all three men herself if needed.
Reid grinned.
"You okay?"
She wiped her lip with her thumb.
"I was handling it."
"Of course you were."
She gave him a sharp look.
Then unexpectedly smiled.
"Thanks anyway."
He offered a hand.
"Reid."
She ignored the hand.
"Cecelia."
Then she grabbed her bag and started walking off.
"That's it?" he called after her. "No dramatic slow-motion gratitude scene?"
She raised one finger without turning back.
And disappeared around the corner.
Reid stared after her.
Then laughed.
"Well… hello."
Across town, luxury glittered under glass.
Montana Boutique stood like a palace of fashion.
Tall golden doors.
Crystal displays.
Mannequins dressed in custom couture.
Perfume drifting through polished air.
Soft music played while wealthy clients moved between racks of imported designs.
Every corner screamed elegance.
Bethany entered like she owned the place.
Which, one day, she probably would.
Staff greeted her instantly.
"Miss Salvatore."
"Welcome back, Miss Bethany."
She waved them off and walked deeper inside.
At the center of the boutique stood Mrs. Kaylee Salvatore.
Sharp, graceful, and commanding, she wore a fitted cream suit and diamonds that caught the light with every movement.
She was speaking to important clients from abroad, discussing fabrics and exclusive lines as if negotiating world peace.
Bethany waited impatiently.
The second the clients left, she ran forward and hugged her mother tightly.
"Mummy!"
Mrs. Kaylee laughed softly.
"There's my dramatic child."
Bethany clung to her like a little girl.
"I missed you."
"You saw me yesterday."
"That was long ago."
Her mother kissed her forehead.
"Come. Talk to me."
They moved into a private lounge filled with velvet chairs and fresh orchids.
Tea arrived instantly.
Mrs. Kaylee crossed her legs elegantly.
"How are your friends?"
Bethany rolled her eyes.
"Annoying."
"Meaning healthy."
Her mother smiled. "And Colt?"
Bethany's face softened without permission.
Mrs. Kaylee noticed immediately.
There it was.
The look.
The one Bethany had worn since years ago.
It had started the night Reid first introduced her to the group.
She had entered some rooftop party expecting attention.
Then she saw him.
Colt.
Standing alone by the city lights with a drink in hand, looking bored and beautiful and completely uninterested in everyone around him.
He hadn't rushed to charm her.
Hadn't tried to impress her.
He barely looked at her.
And somehow—
That was what trapped her.
Since then, every smile from him had mattered too much.
Every glance felt like hope.
Every cold silence felt like punishment.
Now she frowned.
"He got married."
Mrs. Kaylee lifted a brow.
"To whom?"
"Some girl named Trinidad."
"And this bothers you."
Bethany looked away.
"She's trying to steal him from me."
Her mother laughed lightly.
"You cannot steal a man who was never yours."
"Mum!"
"I'm serious."
Kaylee leaned forward.
"If you want Colt, then win him. But never chase what does not chase back."
Bethany sank deeper into the couch.
That wasn't the answer she wanted.
Back at the Clifford mansion, Trinidad lay sprawled on a sofa in the parlour.
A romantic series played on the giant television.
Onscreen, the male lead cupped the heroine's face.
Music swelled.
He leaned in.
Trinidad clutched a pillow tightly.
"Ohhh," she whispered.
This morning, she had woken to an empty bed.
Colt was gone.
No note.
No explanation.
Just a cold dent in the sheets where he had slept.
The maids told her he had rushed out early for business.
She told herself she didn't care.
Then why had she noticed?
Onscreen, the couple finally kissed.
Softly at first.
Then deeper.
Trinidad bit her lip unconsciously.
"Just kiss her properly already."
The man on TV pinned the girl gently to a wall.
Trinidad hugged the pillow harder.
"Yes! That's it!"
The kiss grew more intense.
Her eyes widened.
"Ah…"
A voice behind her spoke calmly.
"Do you want me to do it to you?"
Trinidad screamed and nearly fell off the sofa.
She whipped around.
Colt stood at the doorway, one hand in his pocket, looking annoyingly composed.
Her face burned.
"H-How long have you been there?!"
"Long enough."
He walked closer.
Slowly.
Dangerously.
Her grip tightened on the pillow.
"I was talking to the TV."
"I know."
He stopped in front of her.
His gaze dropped briefly to her bitten lip.
Then rose again.
A slow heat spread through the room.
Trinidad swallowed.
He leaned down slightly, voice lower than before.
"If you're curious…"
Her breath caught.
"…you can ask me instead."