The cold hit her in layers now.
First the shock of it — the spray against her back, against her breasts, against the heat that still smoldered somewhere deep and wrong — then the deeper cold, the one that settled into her bones and made her teeth chatter. She was shivering so hard she couldn't tell if she was being held up or holding him. Her fingers were curled against his chest. His skin was warm. Still warm, even under the freezing water.
She blinked. Her eyes focused. Unfocused. Focused again.
She was naked.
The realization hit her like a second shower — colder, sharper. She was naked, pressed against Liam Thorn's body, her breasts flattened against his chest, her thighs brushing against something that was definitely not skin but was close enough to make her stomach drop. Fabric. Thin fabric. His boxer briefs, soaked through, clinging to him, and she could feel the shape of him through it, the heat of him, and her face went from cold to burning in the span of a single heartbeat.
Her hand — her own hand — was gripping his wrist. Her nails were digging in.
She let go like she'd been burned.
"I —" Her voice cracked. Broke. She swallowed and tried again. "What — what happened —"
"Elena."
His voice was low. Controlled. The same voice that had told her to stand still in his study. The same voice that had told her she'd been beautiful tonight.
She looked up at him. The water was darkening his black hair, plastering it to his forehead. His blue eyes were sharp, assessing, and something else beneath that — something harder, colder, that she didn't recognize.
"You were drugged," he said. "Both of you. Eros. It's a compound that induces a hypersexual response."
Her brain tried to process the words. Drugged. Hypersexual. Response.
And then the memories hit her.
Not clean memories. Not clear ones. Fragments — heat, wetness, a mouth between her legs, fingers inside her, a voice that wasn't her own begging for more. Lisa's mouth. Lisa's fingers. Lisa's tongue.
Her stomach lurched.
She grabbed his shoulders. Her legs gave out. She would have fallen if he hadn't been holding her, his arm tight around her waist, keeping her upright under the spray.
"Hey." His voice was closer now. Sharper. "Elena. Stay with me."
"I — she — Lisa —"
"Was also drugged." His jaw was set. Hard.
Her breath came in short, ragged gasps. The cold was making it hard to think. The shame was making it hard to breathe. She could still feel it — the ghost of pleasure, the echoes of a climax that had ripped through her while her best friend's mouth worked between her thighs.
“S-s-s-some o-on-e wa-a-nt to tell-l me wha-ats go-oi-ing on?” Lisa yelled from the bathtub, her voice chattering between clattering teeth.
Elena turned her head. Through the hazed glass of the shower door, she could see the outline of the tub, and Lisa's silhouette huddled in the water, her arms wrapped around herself, her whole body trembling.
"Li — Liam?" Lisa's voice cracked as she repeated, "W-w-w-hat the-the f-f-fuck is going on?"
Liam exhaled. A long, slow breath that seemed to carry something out of him — tension, maybe, or the last of his adrenaline. He looked down at Elena, then through the glass at Lisa, and his voice shifted into something colder. Commanding.
"You can both get out of the water now," he said. "Grab a towel and dry off. Quickly."
The authority in his voice cut through the fog in Elena's head. She felt him release her waist — slowly, carefully, making sure she could stand — and then his hands were gone, and she was alone under the spray, shivering, her arms wrapped around herself.
She stepped back. Her legs were unsteady, but they held. Her hand found the shower door handle, and she pulled it open.
The cold air hit her wet skin like a slap. Steam rose off her body in thin wisps as she stepped out onto the bathmat, her bare feet slipping slightly on the wet tile.
She reached for the nearest towel — a fluffy white one hanging on a rack near the sink — and pulled it off, wrapping it around herself with shaking hands. The fabric was rough and soft at the same time, and she clutched it like armor, holding it closed at her chest.
Behind her, the glass shower door swung shut.
She heard the click of it closing, and she turned her head just enough to see through the fogged glass. His silhouette was there, darker against the white tile, the water streaming down his body. She could see the broad line of his shoulders, the narrow taper of his waist, the shape of him through the condensation and the spray.
Her breath caught.
She looked away. Fast. Her face was burning again, and she didn't know why — didn't know why she felt embarrassed to have seen him like that, half-naked and wet and real, when he had already seen every inch of her.
What is going on?
The question echoed in her skull, hollow and desperate. She had been in bed. She had been touching herself — no, Lisa had been — no, they had been —
Her stomach turned again.
She turned away from the shower, from the glass, from the silhouette that she couldn't stop seeing even with her eyes closed, and found Lisa climbing out of the tub, naked.
Elena's eyes went wide, and she looked away again — but not before she saw it. The way Lisa's body moved. The way water ran down her thighs. The way her skin was flushed, reddened by the cold, her nipples tight, her dark hair plastered to her face and neck.
Lisa grabbed a towel from a hook near the tub and wrapped it around herself with shaking hands, her teeth chattering audibly in the quiet room.
Elena didn't know what to say. She didn't know how to look at her. The memories were still coming back — fragments, flashes, the sound of Lisa's mouth against her, the feeling of Lisa's fingers inside her—
She squeezed her eyes shut.
Behind her, she heard the shower door open again.
Her body went still.
Realizing Liam was exiting the shower, Elena turned away. She couldn’t look at him. Just thinking about his bare chest against hers under the spray stirred a heat she couldn’t quite escape.
She kept her eyes fixed on Lisa, on her best friend's face, the dark eyes that stared back at her with a mixture of confusion and shame and something else — something that looked almost like awe.
Lisa's gaze shifted. Moved past Elena. Landed on something behind her.
Elena heard the wet sound of fabric being pulled off. The snap of elastic. The soft thud of something wet hitting the tile floor.
Lisa’s breath stopped, and her eyes went wide.
Elena saw it happen. Saw her lips part. Her throat moved as she swallowed, her gaze locked on whatever new scene was behind Elena's back.
Lisa's eyes were still wide. Still locked. Her mouth was open, her cheeks flushing, and Elena could see the exact moment Lisa realized what she was doing — saw the way her gaze snapped up to Elena's face, the way her expression shifted from awe to panic, the way she mouthed a single word:
No. Don’t. Don’t say anything.
Elena didn’t need to look to know what she was seeing; she could remember it still—his shirt gone, water still tracing down his bare torso, his boxer briefs clinging damply to him, like the cold hadn’t touched him at all. That same unshakable authority in the way he stood, exposed and completely unbothered by it.
She didn't turn around.
She stayed frozen, facing Lisa, her back to the shower, her heart pounding so hard she could hear it in her ears. Behind her, she heard movement — the soft pad of wet feet on tile, the rustle of fabric, a drawer opening and closing.
He was getting a towel.
He was naked behind her.
The thought hit her like electricity, and she clenched the towel tighter around herself, her knuckles white against the fabric.
"Dry off thoroughly," Liam's voice came from behind her. Still low. Still controlled. "The cold helps break the compound's hold, but you need to get warm slowly. No hot water. Both of you should get into the covers of the bed and slowly warm up.
Elena heard him moving. Heard fabric rustling. Heard the sound of him drying himself, quick and efficient, and she kept her eyes fixed on Lisa, who was still staring at something over Elena's shoulder, her expression caught between mortification and fascination.
"Girls." Liam's voice shifted. Sharper. "Are you understanding me?"
Lisa blinked. Swallowed. "Yeah. Yeah, I'm — I'm understanding you."
Elena gave a nod of her head, unable to speak or face him.
"Good. Both of you get into bed. We need to talk about what happened tonight."
There was a pause. A long, weighted pause where no one moved. Then as Liam walked past her, she saw his toned naked body, now only wrapped in a towel walk past her into the bedroom.
Lisa moved first, and Elena followed, the chill driving her to the warmth of the bed it promised. As the two settled in the covers, Liam moved between the bed and the main door. A silence filled the room, only interrupted by slight shivering from the girls.
“Why were you even in here?” Elena asked, breaking the silence.
“Screaming is not something I normally hear in my manor. At least not from this side of the home.” He answers.
“How did it happen?!” She demanded, slowly returning to normal feeling as Lisa’s naked body continued to press against hers.
“That, I don’t know. Eros is normally inhaled. Usually through vapor or a humidifier. Drinking it works too, but it's harder to hide because it tastes awful." He finishes explaining. Then starts to walk towards the door.
“Hey! You better not be leaving! I have more questions! How do you know all this?”
She yells, watching as he approaches the door.
“I’m not leaving. It would be irresponsible to leave you two in this state.” He stated, with little annoyance shown in his monotone voice. He then steps to the door and takes one step half out, reaching just outside the door. Through the gap in the door, Elena can see him reaching for the Bell and giving it a good ring. It's a soft, melodic but piercing noise that seemed to echo through the manor. He then steps back inside, facing them both.
“My question remains unanswered, Liam,” Elena growls.
“It’s because I made it. Or better phrasing, had it developed by my medical team.”
“Wh-what? You made it? Why?” Elena spoke up, a flicker of unease tightening in her chest.
“To control the market,” he said evenly. “If people are going to use something, I’d rather it be predictable. Not cut with something that kills them.” His gaze didn’t waver. “Eros was designed to be safer. Better restricted and managed.”
Elena’s brow furrowed, unease tightening in her chest. “You call that safer?” she asked, her voice thin with disbelief. “Why would something like that even need to exist?”
“I don’t know, El, that stuff was pretty fun aside from the whole getting spiked part. I never planned on doing that with you, but it definitely was something fun.” Lisa let out a nonchalant sound with her filter still gone, something she would probably never find.
The memories came rushing back in brutal clarity. Lisa's hands. Lisa's mouth. Every touch she had tried not to think about.
"No-no-no-no-no." Elena's face burned crimson. Her stomach twisted as the reality of it settled over her.
Elena's chest hitched. The word kept repeating in her head, a broken loop she couldn't escape. No. No. No. Her fingers dug into the blanket, knuckles white against the fabric, and she squeezed her eyes shut like she could erase the images behind them.
Lisa's hands. Lisa's mouth. The sounds she had made.
The way she had wanted it.
The thought hit her like a blade, sharp and cold, and she felt something crack open in her chest—a black tide of shame rising so fast she couldn't breathe against it.
Her body had responded. Had arched into it. Had begged.
"Elena."
Lisa's voice was soft. Closer than she expected. Elena opened her eyes and found Lisa shifted beside her, the towel still wrapped around her body but loosening, her dark hair drying in messy waves against her shoulders. Her face was pale beneath the flush, her eyes red-rimmed and uncertain.
"Elena, I'm—" Lisa's voice cracked. She swallowed, tried again. "I'm so sorry. I don't—I didn't mean to—"
Elena stared at her. At the face she'd known since elementary school. At the friend who'd eaten ramen with her at 2 AM, who'd called her out on her bullshit, who'd followed her into this mansion without a second thought.
"It's not your fault," Elena said. The words came out hoarse. Raw. "We were drugged."
"I know, but I still—" Lisa's breath shook. "I still did it. I still—"
"Lisa." Elena reached out before she could think better of it. Her hand found Lisa's wrist under the covers, her fingers wrapping around the warm skin. "Stop."
Lisa's eyes met hers. Wet. Guilty. Searching.
Elena's throat tightened. The truth sat heavy on her tongue, waiting to be spoken, and she didn't know if she was brave enough to let it out.
"I had wanted it too."
The words were barely a whisper. They hung in the air between them, fragile and damning, and Elena felt her face burn as she said them.
"Part of me. Part of me wanted it. And I don't know how to—" She stopped. Swallowed. "I don't know how to separate what the drug made me feel from what I actually felt."
"Okay."
Liam's voice cut through the room like a blade. He was still standing near the door, one hand braced against the frame, his towel wrapped around his waist and his expression unreadable. "I think that's enough emotional processing for now."
Elena flinched. She had forgotten he was there. Had forgotten, for one suspended moment, that anyone else existed in this room.
She pulled her hand back from Lisa's. The absence of contact felt like a loss.
"Mr. Thorn—"
"Liam." His jaw tightened. "At this point, I think we're past formalities." (Discussion Point 1)
He shifted. His bare feet moved against the hardwood, and he crossed to the armchair near the window, lowering himself into it like he was carrying something heavy. His towel rode up slightly, revealing the cut on his thigh, and Elena looked away fast.
"I don't—" He stopped. Rubbed a hand over his face. "I don't have a guidebook for this. I wasn't trained on what to say when two women I'm responsible for get drugged in my own home."
The admission hung in the air. Raw. Unexpected.
Elena stared at him. At the way his shoulders were set—not relaxed, not commanding, but tight. Like he was holding something back.
"You're not good at this," she said.
He let out a short, humorless laugh. "No. I'm not."
"That's okay." The words surprised her. She felt Lisa shift beside her, felt the warmth of her body through the covers, and she kept her eyes on Liam. "I don't think anyone's good at this."
He looked at her. His blue eyes were unreadable, but something flickered behind them—something that might have been gratitude.
The silence stretched. Thickened.
And then Elena felt it.
A warmth. Low in her belly. A slow, creeping heat that had nothing to do with the cold she'd just escaped and everything to do with the body pressed against hers under the covers.
She held her breath, trying to ignore it. Trying to push it down. But Lisa's thigh was touching hers, warm and smooth, and the memory of Lisa's mouth was still burned into her skin.
Her body responded.
She felt herself grow wet. Felt the pulse between her thighs, soft and insistent, and she pressed her legs together instinctively, trying to stifle it.
Stop. This isn't—I'm just remembering. It's the aftereffects. It's not real.
But the heat didn't stop. It built, slow and steady, and Elena felt her nipples tighten against the towel she still wore, the fabric rough against sensitive skin.
Beside her, Lisa shifted.
Elena felt the movement. Felt the way Lisa's body turned slightly toward her. Felt the warmth of her breath, the curve of her hip pressing closer.
She didn't dare look at her.
"Elena."
Liam's voice was sharper now. She looked up, found his eyes fixed on her with an intensity that made her breath catch.
"What?"
He didn't answer. His gaze moved, slow and deliberate, tracking down her body and back up, and she saw his nostrils flare slightly. Saw his jaw tighten.
"You're warm again."
It wasn't a question. His eyes locked on the two of them.
Elena's face burned. "I'm fine."
"Are you sure?" He stood. His towel stayed in place, but the movement was sudden, commanding, and both women tensed as he crossed toward the bed. "The cold water should have disabled it."
"Then what do you suggest?" Lisa's voice was sharp. Defensive. "Because I think I'm feeling it too, and I don't think another cold shower is going to help."
Elena's heart stopped.
Lisa was feeling it too. Lisa was warm. Lisa was pressed against her, breathing the same air, and she was feeling the same heat.
Liam stopped at the edge of the bed. His eyes moved between them, assessing, and then he frowned.
Not at them. At something else.
His head tilted. His nostrils flared again, and he leaned forward slightly, his gaze dropping to the sheets bunched around their bodies.
"Move!"
The word was sharp. Commanding.
"What—"
"Move. Both of you. Get off the bed."
Elena didn't question it. Something in his voice cut through the haze, and she scrambled to the edge of the mattress, her bare feet hitting the cold floor as she stood.
Lisa followed. The towel slipped, and she grabbed it, clutching it to her chest.
Liam reached past them and grabbed the sheet. He pulled it off the bed in one smooth motion, the fabric rustling as it came free, and he lifted it to his face.
He inhaled.
His expression didn't change. But his hand tightened on the fabric, his knuckles going white.
He dropped the sheet and grabbed the duvet. Pulled it off. Lifted it to his nose. His eyes closed for a fraction of a second, and when they opened, they were cold.
"Shit! It's in the bedding."
The words landed like stones.
Elena stared at him. "What?"
"The Eros. It's in the bedding." He threw the duvet aside and grabbed the pillowcase, tearing it off the pillow and holding it up. "Scented. Slow-release. Someone treated the fabric."
Elena's brain struggled to process the words. The bedding. The sheets she had slept in every night. The pillows she had pressed her face into.
Someone had done this on purpose.
Someone had wanted this to happen.
The thought hit her like a wave of cold water, and she wrapped her arms around herself, suddenly feeling exposed in a way that had nothing to do with being naked.
"Who?" Lisa's voice was sharp. "Who would do that?"
Liam didn't answer. He was already moving, gathering the bedding into a pile at the foot of the mattress, his movements quick and efficient.
A knock at the door.
All three of them froze.
"Mr. Thorn?" Presley's voice came through the wood, calm and measured. "You rang."
Liam crossed to the door in three strides and pulled it open. Presley stood in the hallway, fully dressed despite the hour, his posture impeccable. His eyes looked over the girls, the room, and Liam in a towel. Surprise crossed his face, too quick to read, before his expression settled back into place.
"The bedding in this room is compromised," Liam said. His voice was even. Controlled. "Eros compound. Scented slow-release. I need it removed from the manor and tested. Quietly."
Presley's expression didn't shift. His eyes moved past Liam to the pile of fabric on the bed, then back. "Understood, sir. Shall I prepare fresh linens?"
"Yes." Liam's jaw tightened.
"Of course."
Liam gathered the bedding in his arms—the sheets, the duvet, the pillowcases—and handed the bundle to Presley. The pile was large, obscuring the older man's face, but Presley took it without comment.
"I'll have the new bedding brought up momentarily, sir."
"Thank you, Presley."
Presley nodded and turned, disappearing down the hallway with the armful of fabric.
Liam closed the door.
The silence that followed was thick. Heavy. Elena stood beside the bed, still clutching her towel, her body caught between the fading warmth of arousal and the cold weight of realization.
Someone had done this on purpose.
Someone had wanted her to be drugged. The violation settled over her slowly. Someone had entered her room. Someone had touched her bed.
Someone had watched her life closely enough to know exactly where she slept.
She didn't know whether to be afraid or furious. Both emotions churned inside her, tangled and hot, and she felt her hands start to shake.
"Get dressed." Liam's voice was softer now. Not gentle—Liam Thorn wasn't capable of being gentle—but quieter. Almost careful. "Both of you. There are robes in the closet."
"I need to interrogate the staff," Liam said, his voice low and final. He crossed to the closet, pulled out two plush robes, and tossed them onto the foot of the bed. "Presley will be back with fresh linens. Stay in this room. Don't open the door for anyone else."
Elena nodded, still clutching her towel. Lisa stood frozen beside her, her dark hair dripping onto the floor. Liam's gaze swept over them once—assessing, calculating—and then he was gone, the door clicking shut behind him with a soft, final sound.
Elena let out a breath she hadn't realized she was holding. Her legs felt weak. The robe was soft against her fingers when she reached for it, the fabric thick and warm. She shrugged it on, cinching the belt tight around her waist, and turned to find Lisa doing the same, her movements slower, more deliberate.
Neither of them spoke. The silence was heavy, thick with the ghost of what had happened, the heat that still lingered in their skin like a half-healed wound.
A soft knock. Then the door opened, and Presley entered, his arms full of fresh white linens. He moved with practiced efficiency, stripping the bare mattress and making the bed anew, tucking corners and fluffing pillows as if this were any other night, as if two half-naked women weren't standing in the corner wearing borrowed robes.
"Everything is prepared, Miss Rossi. Miss Chen." He straightened, gave a slight bow, and left without another word, the door closing softly behind him.
Elena looked at Lisa. Lisa looked at her. The room felt smaller now, the bed a vast white plain waiting to be slept in. Without speaking, they moved toward it. Elena climbed in on the left, Lisa on the right, and the mattress dipped under their combined weight. The sheets were cool and crisp, smelling of lavender, and Elena pulled them up to her chin as Lisa settled beside her, their bodies close but not touching.
Within minutes, Lisa's breathing evened out, slow and deep, her body going slack against the mattress. Exhaustion had claimed her quickly, mercifully. But Elena lay rigid, her eyes open in the dark, the storm still raging outside the window. The wind howled. Rain lashed against the glass.
Her mind wouldn't stop. The memory of hands, of mouths, of the heat that had clawed through her—and then the cold shock of Liam's voice, the truth of the drugged bedding, the question that burned like acid: who wanted this to happen? And why?
She couldn't stay still. She slipped out from under the covers, her bare feet silent on the hardwood, and crossed to the window. The glass was fogged with condensation, the storm a dark blur beyond. She lifted her hand and pressed her index finger to the cool surface. Slowly, deliberately, she traced a shape—a five-pointed thorn, like the one she'd seen on Liam's tie pin.
The thorn glistened in the dim light, drawn in the steam of her own breath. She stared at it, her hand still pressed against the glass, and the question she couldn't answer pulsed through her like a second heartbeat: what kind of man owned a drug like Eros—and who in his house had used it on her?
CURRENT END OF CONTENT - DO NOT READ PAST THIS PART PLEASE.