Justin's POV:
After everything that happened this weekend — the laughter, the nightmares, the mind-blowing sex, the quiet morning cuddles — I still didn't know what this was.
Were we still faking it?
Or had we crossed into something dangerously real?
Because nothing about her leaving felt like a performance. It felt like retreat. Like she was putting distance between us again, and I didn't know if it was for her sake or mine. And I hated that I wanted to chase after her, to ask her what we were now.
But I didn't.
I just stood there at the door after it clicked shut behind her, staring at the spot she'd just occupied. Trying to ignore how empty the apartment suddenly felt. How cold the air had turned without her body pressed against mine, her scent still clinging to my shirt.
I ran a hand through my hair, sighing.
We were supposed to be pretending. That was the deal. Just a convenient arrangement, right?
So why the hell did it already feel like a breakup?
