Chapter 4: The Echo of Him

The bed felt too big.

Too empty.

I blinked against the morning light filtering through the curtains, my mind still tangled in the haze of sleep, body heavy with the remnants of something I wasn’t ready to name.

For a split second, I thought I had dreamed him.

That the heat of his body, the press of his hands, the weight of his lips against mine had been nothing but a figment of my imagination.

But then I shifted—and felt it.

The soreness in my thighs. The ghost of his fingertips on my skin. The sheets still carrying the scent of him, like a whisper of last night lingering in the air.

He had been here.

And now he was gone.

I swallowed the lump in my throat and turned onto my side, staring at the empty space beside me. The sheets were untouched. No sign that he had ever even considered staying.

Of course he didn’t.

I shouldn’t have expected him to.

But I hated the way my chest tightened at the realization.

Because despite everything, despite all the warning signs, despite knowing exactly the kind of man he was—I had wanted him to stay.

I exhaled slowly, trying to push him out of my head, but it was impossible.

The way he touched me.

The way he held me.

The way he kissed my forehead instead of my lips, like he wanted to stay but knew he couldn’t.

Like he was already saying goodbye.

I closed my eyes and let myself sink into the memory of him, just for a moment. The way his body had fit against mine. The quiet way he had breathed my name. The heat of his mouth against my skin.

I wanted more of it.

More of him.

And that was a problem.

Because I had always been the girl who wanted too much.

The one who believed in soulmates.

The one who thought love was worth the risk, worth the heartbreak, worth giving everything I had—because what if this time was the time?

What if he was it?

What if, after everything, I finally found the person I was supposed to be with?

And what if I was wrong?

Because I had been wrong before.

Too many times.

I had loved the wrong men before—men who took too much, who gave nothing back, who left me with bruises in places no one could see.

Men who had promised they loved me, but their love had come with conditions, with rules, with breaking me down and reshaping me into something easier for them to handle.

And yet, after all of it, I had never let it make me bitter.

I had never let it make me stop believing in love.

Because I couldn’t.

Because if I did, then what had all of it been for?

So I had kept my heart open, even when it hurt.

Even when it was stupid.

Even now, when I knew better.

Because Secret Agent Ginge had rocked my entire universe.

And for the first time in a long time, I wasn’t sure I’d survive it.

---

I pulled myself out of bed, wrapping the sheet around me as I padded toward the small kitchenette.

I needed coffee.

And a reset.

I wasn’t going to spend the entire morning thinking about him.

Except that was exactly what I did.

Every time I moved, I felt him.

Every time I breathed, I swore I could still smell him.

And every time my mind wandered, it went straight back to his hands, his mouth, the way he had looked at me like I was something precious.

Like I was something he didn’t deserve.

I shook my head, setting my coffee cup down a little too hard on the counter. No!

I wasn’t doing this.

I wasn’t going to be that girl—the one who overanalyzed every touch, every glance, every unspoken word.

I wasn’t going to let him get under my skin.

Because if I did…

I wasn’t sure I’d be able to get him out.

---

Lara showed up an hour later, sunglasses perched on top of her blonde waves, a smoothie in one hand and a mischievous smile in the other.

She took one look at me and smirked. “You look… well-fucked.”

I groaned, dropping my head onto the counter. “I hate you.”

She laughed, tossing her bag onto the couch before hopping up onto the stool across from me. “So. Spill. Secret Agent Ginge finally cracked?”

I lifted my head just enough to glare at her.

She held up her hands. “Hey, you were the one who said he was all mysterious and broody. I’m just assuming he was as intense in bed as he is in life.”

I groaned again, covering my face with my hands. “I’m not talking about this with you.”

“Oh, you absolutely are.”

I shook my head. “There’s nothing to talk about.”

Lara’s brows shot up. “Nothing?”

I hesitated.

Because that was a lie.

It had been “something”.

Something I didn’t know how to put into words.

Something that felt bigger than just one night.

And that scared the hell out of me.

---

The sun was warm against my skin as I stretched out on the deck, the sound of the water lapping against the hull filling the space around us.

For the first time all morning, I felt… calm.

Like I could finally breathe again.

Like maybe, just maybe, I could put him out of my head.

But then a shiver ran down my spine.

A feeling I couldn’t quite place.

Like I was being watched.

I sat up slightly, adjusting my sunglasses, scanning the marina.

Nothing.

No one.

Just the usual Saturday crowd.

I shook my head, exhaling slowly. “Get a grip”.

But for some reason…

I couldn’t shake the feeling.

Like someone had been there.

Like someone had seen me.

And for some reason…

That thought didn’t scare me.

It just made my heart race.

---

I was halfway through a glass of wine that night when my phone buzzed.

I glanced at it absently, expecting a message from Lara.

But when I saw the name on the screen, my stomach flipped.

“Secret Agent Ginge”.

I hesitated, heart pounding, before unlocking my phone.

His message was just one word.

"Slave."

I stared at it.

Confused.

Intrigued.

And maybe just a little bit terrified.