Helena's POV
The apartment Patrick provided for Melanie bears his signature style, though she has already transformed it into chaos. Clothing scattered across every surface, the air thick with coffee, intimacy, and overwhelming perfume creates an assault on my senses.
Melanie sits curled on the sofa, legs folded beneath her, disheveled hair twisted into a careless knot, an enormous shirt sliding down her bare shoulder. Patrick's shirt still clings to my body, his distinctive scent wrapping around me like a phantom embrace. Asher's fresh claim throbs against my throat, each pulse a reminder of my choice. I sweep my hair forward, attempting to conceal the mark, but Melanie's predatory gaze has already found its target.
Her eyes narrow with feline precision. "So," she purrs, stretching the syllable like pulled taffy. "Will you explain what transpired, or must I extract every detail from you?"
