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“You can sleep on the couch,” I say calmly, gesturing toward the sofa across the room.

She goes still for a second, then lets out a quiet, ironic laugh.

“No, Ethan,” she says sweetly—too sweetly. “You can sleep on the couch. I’m sleeping in the bed.”

And giving me no time to respond, she lifts the comforter and slides under it, turning her back to me.

The movement is smooth, decisive, final.

The air in the room becomes thick with tension, with all the unsaid reproaches between us.

I stay where I am, phone still in my hand, even though I’m no longer reading anything.

At first, she’s still.

Then she starts moving.

Small at first—just a shift of her shoulder, a slight adjustment of the pillow. Then another. And another. She turns onto her other side, then back again, pulling the comforter higher, pushing it down, one leg slipping out, then back under.

Restless.

Unsettled.

Every soft movement catches my attention, whether I want it or not.

I don’t look at her even once, not when her breathing evens out, not even when I know for certain she’s asleep.

The first pale light of morning filters in through the curtains when I finally place my phone on the nightstand and force myself to lie down.

My body feels tense, as though even a whisper of movement from her could set me off.

A few hours later, I wake up to find her body pressed against mine. Rage and frustration surge through me, burning and unforgiving. I throw off the covers and take a near-freezing shower, letting the water sting me awake, burning the thought of her from my skin.

Then I run—hard, fast, letting my legs carry away every trace of temptation, every spark of desire.

Because whatever existed between us ended the moment she agreed to go on a date with another man.

FIFTY-THREE

Thalia

I was aware of every reaction, every subtle movement he made. I tried to sleep, I tried to think about anything else, but it was all in vain. Every sound, every move of his body seemed to echo in my mind, keeping me tethered to him.

When he finally put his phone down and decided to go to bed, I think his stillness lulled me into sleep too, though only briefly.

But I was almost awake when he stirred, and I found myself completely on top of him, involuntarily, half-asleep. My body betrayed me, slipping next to him without permission. I didn’t dare move, didn’t dare let him know I was awake. And then, when he pushed me away the moment he realized what was happening, my heart shattered entirely. A heavy, hollow ache that made me feel raw and exposed.

Last night, he hadn’t lifted his eyes from his phone to glance at me for a single second. Anger and frustration burned through me, mixing with the sting of rejection, and I decided to dress in my sexiest sleepwear. It was nearly transparent, clinging to every curve, and I wore nothing underneath.

But it was useless… not only was he uninterested, he didn’t even notice.

Now, I am in the living room with everyone else. He left the bedroom this morning right after his shower, then disappeared—and still hasn’t come back.

“When do we open the gifts?” Sierra asks impatiently.

“As soon as Ethan joins us,” Sara replies, winking at her.

Since there are so many of us, and it would be a colossal task to exchange gifts individually, years ago we decided on a Secret Santa, drawn by lot.