౨ৎ 𝗦𝗔𝗖𝗖𝗛𝗔𝗥𝗜𝗡𝗘 𝗞𝗜𝗦𝗦𝗘𝗦 oscar piastri ━ chapter twenty-four.
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He's standing outside her door, debating whether he should knock or just turn away. Last night was . . . messy, heated, and he just wasn't himself. His fist clenches, feeling the weight of it in the palm of his hand. He breathes in, deep and slow, then lifts his knuckles to the wood and taps gently.
No answer.
Maybe she's asleep. Maybe he should leave her alone.
But he tries again, calling softly, "Nora?"
The door creaks open a moment later, like she's been standing behind it all along. And there she is, standing at the window, sunlight streaming through, casting her in a golden outline. She doesn't look at him, her profile framed by the pale morning light. He can see the red rims of her eyes from here. She didn't sleep
His chest tightens. "Hey," he murmurs, stepping inside and closing the door behind him. "Princess, I—"
She doesn't turn around, just keeps staring out at the view — the city sprawled out beneath them, the rooftops a patchwork of red clay tiles, the sea stretching far into the horizon, where the sky melts into the water.
He walks closer, noticing the way the sunlight hits her face, highlighting the tear stains on her cheeks. Her eyes are bloodshot, a painful, raw red that makes him ache to look at her. She's cried herself dry.
He wants to reach for her, to wrap her up in his arms and whisper apologies until his voice gives out, but he hesitates. What right does he have after last night? He can still feel the sting of the words he flung at her, sharp and reckless. He's ashamed of himself.
