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She sets her phone on the desk, grabs a few things from her bag, and heads straight into the bathroom without saying a word.

So I’ll have to wait to shower.

Great.

I drop into the armchair facing the glass wall, let my head fall back, and close my eyes. I’m not thinking about anything—I don’t want to. I just want to shower and sleep.

It’s been a long day of non-stop calls, and I didn’t take a single break until dinner.

I don’t know how long she’s been in the bathroom, but at some point the phone vibrates on the desk. Out of reflex, I turn my head to check it, then remember it’s not mine.

It vibrates again.

Then again, immediately after.

I lift my gaze—and I see the name lighting up the screen.

John.

My blood runs cold so fast it feels like my veins lock solid. Then everything inside me drops into darkness.

A blackout rage.

That’s the exact moment Thalia steps out of the bathroom.

I stand up instantly, the phone already in my hand, and I walk straight toward her.

When she sees how quickly I’m moving, she stops short. Mouth slightly open. Eyes wide. Her whole body tenses, as if bracing for impact.

“If you haven’t started texting my father,” I say, placing the phone on top of the things in her arms, “then your boyfriend is getting impatient.”

I don’t wait for her answer.

I walk past her, stride into the bathroom, and slam the door behind me.

Except the door doesn’t stay closed, because not even ten seconds later, Thalia storms in after me.

“What the hell is your problem, Ethan?” she almost shouts, her voice echoing in the still-steamy air.

My back is to her, but I can see her through the fogged mirror—hair damp, cheeks flushed, phone in her hand, and eyes blazing.

I ignore her completely and start undressing. She took all the time in the world to shower and relax—now it’s my turn.

I pull off my shirt and unbutton my jeans. But she takes two steps toward me and grabs my arm, forcing me to turn and face her.

“You’ve been away for three weeks, and since I came here you’ve been ignoring me,” she says, her voice trembling, but she pushes through it anyway. “And when you finally decide to speak to me, you accuse me of the most ridiculous things.”

I hold her gaze, silent, and keep undressing until I’m standing there in nothing but my boxers.

Only then do I pause—just for a breath—and speak, calm and even.

“I want to shower and sleep. In peace. So I’d appreciate it if you left.”

That’s when she snaps.

I see it—in her expression, in the way her breath catches like she’s about to break, in the lethal look she throws at me.

She pushes me with both hands—barely moving me an inch—and whispers, harsh and shaking, “I don’t know what I was thinking, believing I could have anything with you.”