Brandon's POV
The door clicked shut behind her, soft but final.
And just like that, the room felt colder.
Not empty—no, that wasn't it. Chloe's warmth still lingered in the sheets, in the air, in the faint scent of her soap and something sweet I couldn't place. Vanilla, maybe. Or jasmine. Whatever it was, it wrapped around my chest and squeezed until breathing felt like work.
I stared at the door long after she'd gone, my body still angled toward where she'd been standing, like some stupid instinct expected her to come back any second and say she'd forgotten something. Her phone. Her jacket. Me.
But she didn't.
She needed privacy, she'd said. And I'd nodded, because that's what you do when you care about someone—you give them space even when every nerve in your body is screaming to close the distance instead.
Still, the way she'd looked when she left…
Guilty. Torn. Like she was carrying something heavy she couldn't set down.
