Page 179 of Without a Trace
It was the kind of stillness that said everything.
The kind that cracked something open and tried like hell to hold it shut.
She met my eyes, steady.
She nodded once. “Good.”
Then she opened the door and stepped inside, leaving me there in the dark, already ruined.
Scarlett
The villa door clicked behind me with a softness that didn’t match the storm still spinning in my chest.
The bathroom stretched quiet. Still. Like it hadn’t been watching the whole night unravel.
I didn’t turn on the lights. Just walked straight through the hush of it, turning on the tub—feet still sandy, legs still unsteady, wearing nothing but Alden’s soaked, oversized shirt. It clung in damp patches from where the kayak sprayed us, and I hadn’t bothered to change. It smelled like salt and wind and danger. Like them.
Steam ghosted the mirror, curling like smoke along the marble counter.
I stripped the shirt and let it drop in a quiet heap. Then climbed into the tub without testing the heat.
Didn’t need to.
I just wanted to disappear.
The water climbed slow—ankles, knees, thighs, chest. I sank beneath it until only my collarbones stayed above, skin flushed from the heat, hair floating like gold in the bathwater.
The world outside went quiet.
But my head didn’t.
I reached for my phone, buzzing faintly with heat from the steam. My fingers left streaks on the screen as I opened the one thread that always felt like home.
I typed one-handed, my arm trailing along the side of the tub, damp fingers making each word come slower than the last.
Scarlett:
I think I broke something tonight.
Scarlett: And I think I liked it.
Scarlett: Please still love me.
A few seconds passed. Then—
Lena: We always do.
Lena: You don’t have to earn it.
I blinked. That one—
That one got me.
Sloane: What the hell did you do
Sloane: I feel like you’re naked and wet and being reckless again
Scarlett: …technically yes
