I didn't think it was possible for my apartment to feel this quiet.
Ever since William had walked out of my door on Saturday morning, the silence in the rooms felt heavy, amplified by the lingering scent of his cologne on my pillowcase.
It felt surreal altogether.
That William Torres—the untouchable, formidable, and often terrifying CEO of Torres International—had spent the night tangled in my sheets. He had slept in my simple, twin-sized bed, a piece of furniture that felt far too small for a man of his stature, yet he had looked more peaceful than I had ever seen him.
We had cuddled, his body a solid, warm weight against mine, and for the first time, we hadn't just occupied the same space for a few hours of stress relief. We had slept and woken up next to each other.
It was scary just how calm it had been. There was a quiet domesticity to the way he looked in the morning light that terrified me more than his Ice King mask ever could.
