Milo’s pov
I sat alone in the living room, staring at absolutely nothing like a broken TV.
The whole mansion was quiet.
Too quiet.
Creepy-horror-movie quiet.
But my head?
LOUD.
So loud.
Like a radio stuck on one channel replaying the same moment a thousand times.
Elara.
Under me.
Breathing hard.
Hands clutching my shirt.
Legs brushing mine like she didn’t even know she was doing it.
And her whisper…
That small voice that had been looping in my brain like a cursed ringtone:
“I’m not shaking because of the storm.”
I groaned into my hands.
I needed help.
I needed ice water.
I needed a therapist.
I needed to not be thinking about her like this.
She was a job.
A job, Milo.
A responsibility.
A walking headache with pretty hair and no sense of danger.
But somehow…
she
