The car pulled up to the modest housing complex, the soft hum of the engine fading into silence. My fingers twitched against the torn fabric of my dress, the material clinging awkwardly to my figure. I felt ugly. Uncomfortable. Exposed.
Niklaus shifted in his seat beside me, that insufferable, faintly smug smile tugging at the corners of his lips. "We're here," he said, his tone dripping with satisfaction.
I turned to him slowly, suspicion lacing my every move. "Thank you?" My voice wavered, uncertain.
Without another word, he stepped out of the car with that effortless grace of his, like every move was choreographed for effect. The dim glow of the streetlights cast long shadows as he strode to the trunk, retrieving my bags with a quiet ease.
I hated how natural this felt for him—handling my things, making decisions for me, leaving me reeling in the aftermath.
