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The sheets are twisted around my legs. My nightgown is bunched high on one thigh. My pulse won’t settle. Every time I close my eyes, I see his mouth between my legs again, feel the drag of his tongue, hear that low, rough voice asking me what, exactly, I’m begging for.

I let out a shaky breath and push myself upright.

I need water.

Cold water. A shower, maybe. A new body.

I swing my legs over the side of the bed, and that’s when I hear the knock. Three uneven hits against the door.

I push myself up, wincing a little at the stiffness in my back, and reach for my robe. The digital clock on the bedside table reads 1:17.

Nobody should be knocking on my door at one in the morning.

I cross the room and open it a cautious few inches. “Who is it?”

A beat.

Then, from the other side, a man’s voice. “Sienna.”

My stomach drops.

Ethan.

“It’s late,” I say. “Go back to your room.”

He laughs under his breath. “Still bossy.”

I don’t answer. The handle doesn’t move, but I step back anyway.

“Sienna.” His voice drops, not kinder, just lower. “Open the door.”

“No.”

A longer silence this time.

Then, “Come on. You owe me that much.”

I actually stop breathing for a second, but then decide to open it anyway. He’s not going anywhere until I do, and I don’t want to cause a scene. Maybe I can send him away after he tells me whatever he has to.

I regret it immediately as I open the door. My stomach drops.

He’s tieless, jacket gone, shirt half-unbuttoned at the throat, hair slightly mussed. The smell of whiskey hits me almost immediately.

I keep the door half-closed. “What do you want?”

He smiles, but it’s sloppy around the edges. Wrong. “So cold,” he says. “You used to at least pretend to like seeing me.”

I tighten my grip on the door. “Go back to bed, Ethan.”

He looks past me into the room. “This is where they put you?”

I don’t answer.

He lifts one shoulder. “Figures.”

“Leave.”

Something in his face shifts. Not dramatically. Just enough to make fear slide cold down my spine.