CHAPTER SIX: TROUBLED LOVE.

Mia is barely conscious when Osborne guides her through the door of his apartment. She stumbles, leaning heavily on him as they make their way inside. The soft click of the door shutting behind them seems distant, muffled by the haze of alcohol clouding her senses. Her eyes flutter, half-closed, but she still notices the familiar sharpness of his space—the black couch, the spotless countertops.

Everything here is always too perfect, too untouched, as if Osborne just passes through his own life without bothering to leave a mark.

Osborne kicks off his shoes, half-dragging her to the bedroom. "Come on," he mutters under his breath, not with annoyance, but with that same casual tone he always uses, like none of this really matters. He pushes her onto the bed, and the mattress dips beneath her weight.

She lets out a soft sigh, sinking into the cool sheets. His fingers work quickly, tearing open a condom wrapper, the sound slicing through the room like a blade.

But then, he pauses.

Osborne looks down at her—her face flushed, her eyes glassy—and something shifts in his expression. He isn’t the kind of guy to back down, not when things are already set in motion, but even he has his limits. He frowns, shaking his head, before sitting on the edge of the bed, the wrapper still in his hand.

“Mia,” he says quietly, almost as if he’s speaking to himself. “Do you even know what’s happening right now?”

She doesn’t respond. Her eyes are half-closed, her body limp, and in that moment, she turns her head toward him, placing a hand on his cheek. "Puppy," she murmurs softly, her lips curling into a small, drunken smile. She’s so far gone that it takes him a second to realize she isn’t talking to him—she’s just lost in whatever world her mind has escaped to.

Osborne sighs, tossing the condom onto the nightstand. There’s no point in this—not tonight. He pulls the covers over her, watching as she nestles into them, her breathing deepening into something resembling sleep. He stays up for a little while, sitting there in the quiet darkness, thinking, but not about her. His mind is elsewhere—maybe on work, maybe on something, or someone, else.

When he finally lies down next to her, his body turns away, and sleep comes quickly.

***

Morning creeps in softly, the first rays of sunlight slanting through the blinds. Osborne flips over in his sleep, one arm thrown over his head as if he doesn’t have a care in the world. Mia, now fully awake, watches him from the windowsill, her fingers absentmindedly tracing patterns on the cigarette balanced between them. She takes a slow drag, enjoying the remnant taste of him in her mouth.

She’s not as drunk as she let on last night—never really is. Osborne doesn’t know that, though. He never asks, never checks. He just assumes, like he does with everything. Mia smirks to herself, thinking about how often she’s played this game. How many times she’s pretended to be drunk, hoping it would stop him from expecting more. Hoping it would save her from facing the reality of what they are—or rather, what they aren’t.

She exhales a stream of smoke, watching as it curls up and fades into the air. Osborne shifts slightly, his handsome face still in deep sleep, completely unaware of her thoughts, of her growing detachment. She loves him—God, how she loves him—but she knows he doesn’t feel the same. He might care for her in some distant way, but love? No. He’s drawn to something else, someone else, and she can feel it in every touch that doesn’t stay, every kiss that feels more like habit than passion.

Mia glances around the room, her eyes settling on the impersonal details of his life. The apartment is too neat, too carefully arranged, as if Osborne lives here but doesn’t truly belong. It’s a reflection of him—closed off, distant, a man who’s here but not really here. The expensive furniture, the art on the walls, the countertops—they’re all part of an image, a life that looks good on the surface but lacks any real warmth beneath it.

She takes another drag, letting the cigarette dangle from her lips as she pulls his shirt tighter around her body. It smells like him—like the cologne he wears that’s somehow both intoxicating and cold. She loves that smell. She hates it too. Because it reminds her that she’ll never have more of him like he wishes to. She’s always wanted to ask him—what are we doing here? What does any of this mean?

But she never does.

Mia shifts her gaze back to Osborne, watching the way the sunlight falls on his face, the strong line of his jaw softened by sleep. He looks peaceful like this, so far removed from the version of himself that everyone else sees. She almost convinces herself that this is enough—these quiet mornings, the brief moments of tenderness they share when no one’s looking. But deep down, she knows it isn’t. Deep down, she knows she’s losing him, if she ever had him to begin with.

Her fingers tremble slightly as she flicks the cigarette ash into a nearby tray. She knows he’s drawn to someone else, someone he won't admit to, and it’s killing her. The way his eyes linger just a little too long when Sienna walks by, the casual comments that seem harmless but aren’t. She pretends not to notice, pretends it doesn’t hurt, but it does. Every single time.

Mia drops the cigarette into the ashtray and stands up, walking over to the bed. Osborne doesn’t stir as she crawls in beside him, pressing her body against his, seeking comfort in the only way she knows how. She buries her face in his back, breathing in his familiar scent.

“I know everything,” she whispers into the silence, her words swallowed by the room. But she won’t say it to him. Not yet. She’s not ready to face what she already knows.