Control is everything until it isn’t. I watch Sloane sleeping in my bed, her breath steady and deep in the early morning quiet. She’s curled into my sheets like she belongs there. No one has ever slept in my bed before—I’ve made sure of that, keeping this space as controlled and solitary as every other aspect of my life. But last night, when she tried to go to her room, I pulled her to mine. I wasn’t ready to let her go. Last night changed everything—the barrier between professional and personal collapsing with the first press of her body against mine. I’d planned for every aspect of her
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