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Complete?Definitely.

Gosh, am I supposed to be crying? Is this like those cheesy romance movies where the girl cries after the perfect night? Except, I’m not sad or upset—just overwhelmed in a good way. Crying after sex isn’t exactly the sexiest thing, is it? But then again, Bradley’s reaction is sweet.

This feeling, though, thisconnection—it’s like he’s seeing right through me, and I’m not sure I’ve ever felt so vulnerable yet safe at the same time. Is this what people mean when they talk about being truly intimate? It’s overwhelming, yet I don’t want it to end. Bradley’s tenderness, his care—it’s breaking down walls I didn’t even realise I had. And here I am, baring my soul in a way I never expected.

“Ughh,I’m so embarrassed,” I mutter, trying to hidemy face.

Hetsksat me, gently lifting my chin. “You never have to feel embarrassed for feeling emotions, sunshine. Don’t bottle anything up.” His thumbs wipe away my tears gently, and then he leans in to kiss my lips softly.

“You should take your own advice, you know,” I say softly, not meant to tease, but glancing up to see him smiling.

“Touche, Mills.”

“You reallyshouldtry opening up more. I love talking to you, you know, about… everything.”

“For you, sunshine, I’ll try. I promise.”

He guides me up, urging me to stand. I watch as he heads to my tallboy, rummaging through for underwear and pyjamas. When he finds them, he returns to me, gesturing for me to lift my arms so he can slip my top on. Then he bends down, gently coaxing me to lift my legs, sliding on my underwear and shorts in one smooth motion. As he pulls them up, his lips brush against my most sensitive part, so tenderly that tears well up in my eyes again. He finishes pulling up my shorts and then swiftly strips off the dirty bed sheet, tossing it to the floor.

“Where do you keep your spare sheets?” he asks.

I point to my tallboy. “Bottom drawer.”

He follows my direction, retrieving a fresh fitted sheet and placing it on the bed with care. When I move to help, he gently stops me. “Let me.”

After he finishes making the bed, he takes my wrist, guiding me back toward it. I start to apologise again, but he interrupts me. “Nomore apologising, not to me, not to anyone. Ever.”

I just nod, feeling his warmth enveloping me as he tucks me snugly under the covers. Resting my head on his chest, I hear the steady thump of his heart. His body is firm yet comforting, like the best cuddle ever. With his strong arms wrapped around me, gently rocking me with each breath, I begin to relax.

The rhythm of his heartbeat becomes a familiar melody, lulling me closer to sleep. In this quiet moment, as I feel his presence so intimately, I realise something profound stirring within me: I guess I’ve felt this for a while but couldn’t quite find the words. Maybe all those butterflies weren’t just about nerves after all.

I am completely and hopelessly in love with Bradley Mitchell.

As I wake, sunlight spills through my blinds. I stretch out my arms, expecting to feel Bradley beside me, but the bed is empty. Panic sets in. Did he leave? I could have sworn he stayed the night. I look around and spot a note on my bedside table.

Just went home to grab a change of clothes and freshen up.

Will be back soon. I promise. Xx

Relief washes over me. I quickly freshen up myself and head to the kitchen to make some coffee, the note still in my hand. As I boil the kettle, the sound of the front door opening catches my attention. Iturn to find Bradley walking in, his hands full—juggling a parcel, a gym bag, and a small paper bag. His eyes light up when he sees me.

“Morning, sleepyhead,” he greets with a warm smile, planting a kiss on my forehead.

I yawn, rubbing my eyes. “Sleepyhead? It’s barely eight a.m."

“Yeah, and? I’m awake at the crack of dawn, sweetheart. It’s midday for me now.”

I pout playfully. “Since you don’t drink coffee, how do you even function in the mornings?” I ask, my voice light and curious.

He frowns slightly, smiling as if trying to figure out what I’m really asking. I clear my throat, feeling a bit silly. “Like, whatdrivesyou to get things done? If I don’t have a cup of coffee in the morning, I’m basically a zombie all day.”

He chuckles, a twinkle in his eye. Then, with a smirk, he leans back. “My brain, I guess. It just doesn't stop.”

I giggle, nodding. “Hm. Yeah that brain of yours does seem pretty clever. Makes total sense.”

He grins, teasing, “Guess that means I’ll now have to watch out for zombie-you on coffee-free days.”

I laugh, shaking my head. “You might have to!”