Page 44 of Envy

No one has ever cared if I ate.

“I didn’t think you noticed.”

His eyes flick to my phone again before locking onto mine, his voice cool and unreadable. “I notice everything.”

Heat spreads across my cheeks. Did he read Leo’s texts?

I close the book, marking my place before pulling the hem of my sweater down my thighs. “I’ll be right there.”

But he doesn’t move.

His eyes travel down my legs, stopping at my bare feet.

“You should wear socks,” he mutters. “Or slippers. The floor is cold.”

I blink. Garret doesn’t care about things like that.

“I don’t have clean socks,” I admit quietly. “I don’t own slippers.”

His frown deepens. His gaze sweeps the room before landing on my backpack. The only thing I own.

“Do you want me to grab some clothes for you from the house?” He means John’s house.

I shake my head. “What you saw in my dorm room? That’s everything I own.”

Something flickers across his expression, something I can’t quite read. Without a word, he moves to the dresser, pulls open a drawer, and takes out a brand-new pair of socks.

“Sit.” His voice is quiet but firm.

I hesitate, but my body obeys.

He kneels in front of me.

“What are you doing?” My voice is barely a whisper.

He looks up, his expression unreadable. “Making sure you don’t get cold.”

His fingers wrap around my ankle, warm and firm, as he pulls the sock over my foot. The oversized fabric slides up my calf, covering my skin. Then he does the same with the other foot, his touch surprisingly gentle.

I don’t know how to stop the goosebumps trailing up my arms.

“Thank you,” I murmur.

He doesn’t respond, just stands and nods toward the door. “Let’s go.”

When I step into the kitchen, I freeze.

The island is covered with food—fresh pastries, soft bread, butter, muffins, colorful fruits arranged in careful rows.I’ve seen this spread every morning, but I always reach for the same thing.

Strawberries.

They’re safe. Familiar.

Garret moves to the espresso machine, his broad back flexing as he grabs a cup from the cabinet. Effortless. Controlled.

He presses a button, and the scent of rich coffee fills the space.

Then, without turning around, he asks, “Do you want some?”

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