OLIVIA
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The food was… good.
No—great.
I wasn't mad at the food.
I was mad at him.
Mad at his dumb, overbearing clan.
Mad at myself—furious—for getting caught like some rookie thief in the night. For failing. For ending up here, in a place where I didn't belong, wearing his shirt, eating his food, and breathing in the lingering scent of him that clung to every corner of this damn room.
But the food? It wasn't the enemy.
So, I ate.
Bite after bite, I let the flavors distract me—rich meats, soft bread, and something sweet and honeyed at the end. My stomach stopped gnawing at me, and for a moment, I could almost pretend I was anywhere else.
Almost.
When the tray was empty, I pushed it aside and wiped my mouth with the back of my hand, my jaw tight. The satisfaction of a full belly did nothing to soothe the storm raging inside me.
I wasn't going outside.
Not tonight.
