Chapter 1: The Wrong Room

The house was dark and unfamiliar. The air smelled like fresh laundry and old wood, with the low, steady hum of the fridge somewhere in the background. Sometime after midnight, the covers shifted beside me. Someone slid into bed, their movements careful but sure. My pajama top bunched up at my ribs, letting in a sudden chill across my skin.

My mind, heavy with sleep, tried to make sense of it. "Derek, quit messing around," I mumbled, my voice thick, still half-lost in dreams. I reached out, expecting my boyfriend’s playful touch.

But there was no answer. Instead, warm lips brushed the curve of my neck, soft but insistent, sending goosebumps racing up my arms. His hands roamed with a confidence Derek never had—nothing shy or hesitant about it.

A sharp, sweet whiff of whiskey hit me. Derek never drank, especially not at home. My heart skipped. Was this Derek? Or had I wandered into the wrong room? But the lips kept moving, and I wanted so badly to believe it was him.

I froze, torn between the comfort of a familiar embrace and a gnawing sense that something was off. Still, I let my arms circle his neck, chasing warmth even as doubt prickled down my spine. My thoughts blurred, lost in the moment and the steady hum of the AC kicking on.

"Hey, bro, you in there?"

Derek’s voice rang clear from the hallway, unmistakable. Every muscle in my body locked up, my heart hammering.

If Derek was outside—then who was inside the room with me?