Idara
I took a shower and changed into something fresh—his shirt. It smelled like him, warm and familiar, and it fit me perfectly, like it was always meant to.
When I stepped into the bedroom, the aroma of food filled my nostrils, rich and inviting, and I didn’t hesitate before moving to the table.
He was already seated. His eyes lifted the moment he saw me and followed my every movement, slow and intent, like a predator watching its prey.
I sat opposite him, lowering my gaze to the plate in front of me.
“Do you need help cutting the steak?” he offered.
Seriously? I wasn’t that helpless. I shook my head. “No, I can do it myself. Thanks.”
He nodded once, saying nothing more, and I dug into the food, my mouth watering.
It tasted incredible—the kind of meal you’d expect from fine dini
