The guilt was a physical thing.
It sat heavy in my stomach, a cold, hard knot that tightened every time my phone buzzed.
Another text from Chloe, a picture of a centerpiece mock-up—ivory roses and eucalyptus—with a string of heart emojis.
Another call from Marcus, his voice a warm, familiar blanket I wanted to either wrap myself in or set on fire.
*Thinking of you. *
His text from this morning was still on my screen, a simple sentence that carried the weight of a decade of history and the phantom taste of his kiss.
A sweet, tender kiss that felt like a betrayal.
Not to Marcus, but to the fragile, reckless thing Rhys had woken up in me.
I was drowning, and the only person who seemed to know how to pull my head above water was the one pushing me deeper into the storm.
Rhys.
He was my addiction, my shameful, secret fix.
The pressure would build—a planning call with Chloe that felt more like a board meeting, a lingering look from Marcus that promised a future I wasn’t sure I wanted—and the craving would hit.
A visceral, undeniable need for the one thing that made it all disappear: him.
It started a few days after my dinner with Marcus.
I was walking through the half-finished ballroom, my clipboard a useless shield, the walls feeling like they were closing in. I saw Rhys through an open door, in the library, sanding a massive oak bookshelf. The air was thick with the scent of sawdust and his sweat.
I didn’t have a plan. I just acted.
I didn’t say a word. I just walked up behind him, my fingers tracing the corded muscle of his back.
He froze, his muscles tensing under my touch. He’d turned, his gray eyes dark and knowing, and backed me into the unlit supply closet without a question.
The kiss wasn’t tender.
It was a collision. His hands were rough against my skin, his mouth devouring mine. He’d pressed me against the shelves, the cool metal a stark contrast to the heat coiling in my belly.
It was fast, desperate, and silent, a frantic exchange of energy that left me breathless and trembling, my mind blissfully, blessedly blank.
But the blankness was temporary.
The second I was alone again, the guilt and anxiety came rushing back, twice as strong.
The fix was temporary, and the cravings were getting worse.