Page 41 of Click of Fate

I let her breathe. Let her choose.

Because something tells me if she’s still here by morning… it’s because she wants to be.

Chapter 11

COOL GIRL

STELLA

I wake up warm.Not cozy but sweaty. Which is the first sign something’s off.

I always sleep with my cooling blanket. Always. I sleep hot, I sleep diagonally, and most nights, I pass out with Lightroom open and an energy bar still in the sheets. Comfort isn’t really the vibe.

But this?

This bed is soft. And still. Too comfortable.

My hand shifts across the sheets, instinctively searching for the blanket I know should be there, cool to the touch, always tangled at my side.

Nothing.

The second sign? I haven’t moved. Not even an inch. My limbs are still, like my body knew it didn’t want to mess this up.

Which is wildly suspicious.

The third sign?

There’s a sound outside, a faint city hum I don’t recognize. Distant traffic. A barking dog that’s too far away to belong to any neighbor I know.

I live in a house. With a yard. Even though my loud-as-hell niece is visiting Grandma, the Echo Dot in her room sill plays the worst Disney songs early in the morning.

But not this morning. This is different for sure.

This is… quiet. And then it hits me. Not thewhere, but thewho.

Luke.

I crack one eye open and confirm what I already know.

He’s asleep, face turned toward me, one hand still tucked beneath his pillow, the other close enough that if I shifted, we’d be tangled again.

His lips are parted slightly, and he’s smirking in his sleep. It’s rude, really.

He even dreams smugly. Peaceful and shirtless. The man is annoyingly attractive. So is the rest of him, honestly.

Which is a problem. Because I don’t stay the night. Not even after… that.

I don’t stay, not for sleep, not for cuddling, not for pillow talk. And yet…here I am. Apparently, I’ve lost control of the narrative.

I study him for a moment longer than I should, because damn, he’s pretty. But I know it’s time to go. I slide out of the bed as quickly and quietly as I can; I don’t want to wake him. I’m not opposed to him catching me like last time, but I’ve made sneaking out an art form.

No strings, no expectations. Just a clean, silent exit before things have a chance to get complicated. But this time… it doesn’t feel as clean.

I move through his apartment like a thief, quietly pulling on my clothes and wrangling my hair into a quick messy bun.

I pause near the kitchen counter, hand resting on the edge like it might anchor me.

My eyes flick to the notepad on the island next to a pile of mail. A pen beside it. It’s nothing special.

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