✓ WICKED VOWS| JAKE (Book II )

11-Orphic Ink

ANNA

The morning sun pierced through the window, its golden rays dancing across the room. I lay there, the remnants of a sleepless night clinging to me like a heavy shroud. Jake's presence beside me had been a constant, his form unmoving and seemingly indifferent to the restlessness that had consumed me throughout the night. He hadn't tossed or turned, hadn't even readjusted himself in the bed. He had simply slept, as if the weight of the world was not resting on his shoulders.

I couldn't help but wonder why I was analyzing his sleep, why his mere presence beside me had kept me awake for most of the night. Was it because of the tension that simmered between us, the unresolved issues that hung in the air like a thick fog? Or was it something else, something deeper and more unsettling?

I turned away from him, the weight of the night still lingering between us like an unspoken question. As I shifted, I sensed his movement beside me. His silhouette stood up, stretching languidly before he sat up on the edge of the bed. His fingers ran through his dark hair, a casual gesture that revealed the defined muscles beneath his t-shirt and sweatpants.

I glanced at my phone, the bright screen illuminating the early morning. It was six in the morning. With a sigh, I sat up, pulling my hair into a messy bun.

As he disappeared into the bathroom, I absentmindedly scrolled through my phone. A notification caught my attention—a new post about a motorcycle race in Italy. A pang of longing hit me, and for a moment, I wished I could be there, watching the race unfold.

I saved the post before switching to check my emails. The familiar hum of my inbox greeted me, a mix of work-related messages and newsletters. I glanced up as Jake emerged from the bathroom, already dressed in a beige v-neck sweater and black jeans, his night clothes in hand.

I couldn't help but wonder why he didn't change in his room. It wasn't like I cared about seeing him change, but it was a small, intimate act that seemed oddly out of place. Despite the early hour and the coolness of the morning, he seemed unaffected, his demeanor as relaxed and effortless as ever.

Another notification came from my phone, breaking the silent tension between us. His eyes locked with mine, dark, mysterious, and piercing. Jake had the kind of eyes that saw straight into a person's soul, stripping past layers of elaborate lies to reach the ugly truths underneath. How many of my truths could he see? Could he see the girl beneath the mask, the one who'd carried a decades-long burden she was terrified to share, the one who'd killed?

His gaze held mine, his eyes growing colder by the second. He sucked his bottom lip into his mouth, a subtle gesture that sent a shiver down my spine. His eyes dropped, and I felt exposed under his scrutiny. His gaze traced a path from my eyes, down my body, lingering on my breasts, down my waist, and all the way to my hips before his gaze dropped to the ground as if there was nothing to see. My skin prickled with awareness, and my nipples hardened, betraying my body's reaction to his intense gaze. I was only wearing the cotton tank top from yesterday, but his scrutiny made me feel as though I were naked. It only made me angrier. Nothing this guy did should affect me. Okay, so he's hot. He's filled out, his shoulders are wider, his arms more muscular, and the way his sweater hugged his body hinted at something delicious hiding underneath. Shame about the personality. Shame about his eyes, which remained cold and showed no reaction to seeing me.

"Good morning," his voice was rich, and smooth, filling the room with an almost tangible presence.

"Morning," I muttered, holding myself up on the bed before walking towards the bathroom, purposefully ignoring him. He seemed to be doing the same, but then he surprised me by speaking up.

I was angry—angry at him for his indifference, angry at myself for letting him affect me this way. But beneath the anger, there was something else, something I couldn't quite name. Was it desire? Longing? Or was it something darker, something I didn't dare acknowledge?