When Asher woke up, he found himself in bed with Lucy. She lay beside him, her chest rising and falling in slow, uneven breaths.
Even in sleep, exhaustion clung to her, her fingers still faintly curled as if they had been gripping the sheets too tightly.
He touched his temple, memories flooding back—how he had kept going, ignoring the trembling in her voice until she had begged him to stop.
His fingers twitched against his forehead.
'What happened to me... Why did I do it?'
The way he had spoken to her, the things he said—it felt alien, as though someone else was whispering through his mouth, pushing him forward with a darkness he hadn't fully understood until it was too late.
He turned his head slightly, watching the way the dim light caught the curve of her shoulder.
There were no bruises, no signs of harm—only the faintest redness on her slit, evidence of how fiercely he claimed her.
A cold knot formed in his stomach.
