Page 20 of Trained In Sin

Saphy

Monday morning arrives with the weight of normalcy I've been craving. The weekend felt endless, two days of replaying Friday night in my head, of hating myself, both for what I did to Damon and for being attracted to Sebastian Blackwood.

I throw myself into work with an intensity that borders on manic.

Every email gets an immediate response. Every document is reviewed with microscopic attention to detail.

When Miranda comments on how focused I seem, I just smile and claim I'm trying to get ahead on the riverside development project.

It's not entirely a lie. Work is safe. Work is predictable. Work doesn't involve dangerous men with grey eyes who make me forget every moral principle I've ever held.

I find myself opening Sebastians text throughout the morning, reading his words over and over like they contain some hidden message. Which is ridiculous. They're just words. Meaningless words from a man I need to forget exists.

So why do I keep reading them?

"Saphy?" Miranda appears at my desk, looking concerned. "You've been staring at your phone for ten minutes."

I quickly close the message and slide the phone into my drawer. "Sorry, just... checking something."

"Everything okay? You seem a bit off today. "

"I'm fine." The words come out sharper than intended. "Just focused on work."

Miranda raises an eyebrow but doesn't push for once.

The morning passes without incident. I review some acquisition documents, prepare briefings for upcoming meetings, and respond to emails with efficiency that would make my university professors proud. See? I can function perfectly well without thinking about Sebastian Blackwood every five minutes.

Except I am thinking about him every five minutes. The way he looked at me in that alley. The way his hands felt on my skin. The way he kissed me like he was claiming something that belonged to him.

I shake my head violently, earning a strange look from Oliver who's passing by my desk. This has to stop. I made a choice. I chose Damon, chose my relationship, chose the life that makes sense. I can't keep torturing myself with memories of a moment that never should have happened.

My phone buzzes with a text, and my heart jumps so violently I nearly knock over my coffee. But it's not Sebastian. It's Damon.

Fancy a surprise lunch? I'm downstairs in reception.

Relief floods through me, followed immediately by something that feels almost like joy. Damon. My boyfriend. The man I love, the man I'm building a future with. This is exactly what I need, a reminder of what really matters.

I practically sprint to the lift, checking my reflection in the polished steel doors. I look tired, a bit frantic around the edges, but presentable. Professional. Like someone who definitely didn't spend the weekend obsessing over a criminal's text message .

Damon is waiting in the lobby, looking exactly like himself, khaki chinos, navy jumper, that slightly nervous smile he gets when he's trying to be spontaneous.

He's holding a small bouquet of flowers from the shop around the corner, and the sweet ordinariness of the gesture makes my chest tight with emotion.

"Surprise!" he says, presenting the flowers with a flourish that's endearingly awkward.

"Damon!" I throw my arms around him with more enthusiasm than I usually show in public, pressing my face into his neck and breathing in his familiar scent. Soap and fabric softener and that faint smell of the office. Safe. Comfortable. Nothing like …. other people.

"Well, this is a nice welcome," he laughs, seeming pleased by my reaction. "I thought you might fancy getting out of the office for a bit."

"That's perfect. You're perfect." I pull back to look at him, taking in his kind eyes behind wire rimmed glasses, the way his hair sticks up slightly at the back because he never remembers to check it. "I love you."

Something flickers across his face, surprise, maybe even concern. "I love you too. Are you feeling alright? You seem a bit..."

"A bit what?"

"I don't know. Intense, I suppose."

I force myself to dial back the manic energy I can feel radiating from every pore. "Just happy to see you. Is that a crime?"

"Course not." But he's still looking at me strangely as we walk toward the restaurant he's chosen .

Lunch is at a small Italian place two streets over, the kind of cozy, unremarkable spot Damon loves and I usually find charming.

Today, it feels suffocating. The checked tablecloths, the fake ivy climbing the walls, the overly friendly waiter who insists on explaining every dish in exhausting detail.

Sebastian would never choose a place like this.

The thought hits me like a slap, and I have to grip my water glass to stop my hands from shaking. What is wrong with me? I'm having lunch with my boyfriend, my lovely, thoughtful boyfriend who brought me flowers and surprised me at work, and I'm comparing him to a stalker who terrifies me.

"So I've been thinking about our savings account," Damon says, cutting into his pasta with surgical precision. "I ran some calculations over the weekend, and if we keep putting away the same amount each month, we should have enough for a deposit by Christmas."

"That's great," I reply automatically, though the words feel like they're coming from someone else.

"I was thinking we could start looking at some properties? Maybe take some weekends to drive around areas we're interested in." He pauses, looking at me expectantly. "What do you think?"

What I think is that the idea of house hunting with Damon feels about as exciting as watching paint dry.

What I think is that three days ago, the thought of our shared future filled me with contentment, and now it feels like a slow suffocation.

I detest myself and am beyond angry at Sebastian. How dare he do this to my life.

"Sounds lovely," I lie .

Damon launches into a detailed analysis of mortgage rates and property values, his voice taking on that slightly pedantic tone he uses when he's explaining something he finds fascinating. I nod and make appropriate noises, but my mind keeps wandering.

"...and the data shows that properties in zone three are appreciating faster than zone two, which is counterintuitive but actually makes sense when you consider the transport links and..."

Damon's voice fades to background noise as I watch his mouth move. When did his voice become so monotonous? When did his careful explanations start feeling like lectures instead of conversations?

He pauses to take a sip of water, and I realize he's expecting a response to something.

"Sorry, what?"

"I said, what do you think about looking at areas further out? Better value for money, more space for the future..."

Future. Children. The life we're supposed to be building together. It all feels surreal, like someone else's dream that I've accidentally wandered into.

"Whatever you think is best," I manage.

Damon frowns. "Saphy, you're not really listening, are you?"

"I am! I just... I'm tired. Work's been a lot recently." I reach across the table and grab his hand, squeezing tighter than necessary. "But I love that you're thinking about our future. I love that you plan everything so carefully."

Do I, though? Or do I love the idea of loving it ?

"You sure you're okay? You've seemed a bit off all weekend. Distant."

Guilt crashes over me like a wave. He noticed. Of course he noticed. While I've been obsessing over another man's touch, Damon's been worrying about me, trying to figure out what's wrong.

"I'm perfect," I say, injecting as much warmth into my voice as I can manage. "Just overwhelmed with work stuff. You know how I get."

He smiles, accepting the explanation because he trusts me. Because he has no reason not to trust me. Because I've never given him any reason to doubt my loyalty before.

The shame burns in my chest like acid.

As we walk back to my office, Damon chatters about his morning at work, some fascinating development in data analytics that I should probably care about but can't bring myself to focus on.

His voice has developed this slight nasal quality that I've never noticed before, and he keeps sniffing in a way that's starting to grate on my nerves.

When did Damon become so... bland?

The thought is cruel and unfair, and I hate myself for thinking it. Damon isn't bland. He's stable, reliable, kind. He's everything I should want. The problem isn't with him, it's with me. It's with the way Sebastian Blackwood has poisoned my perception of everything good and safe in my life.

We reach the entrance to my building, and suddenly I'm desperate to prove to myself that what I felt with Sebastian wasn’t real. That what I have with Damon is meaningful and enough .

"Damon," I say, turning to face him.

"Yeah?"

I step closer, close enough to see the confusion in his eyes. Then I kiss him. Not the usual polite peck we share in public, but a real kiss. The kind of kiss I gave Sebastian in that alley.

Except it's nothing like that kiss.

Damon's lips are soft, familiar, safe. He tastes like the pasta sauce from lunch and morning coffee. His hands come up to rest gently on my waist, respectful and careful even in passion.

I try to lose myself in it, try to recapture even a fraction of what I felt Friday night. I press closer, deepen the kiss, pour all my desperation and guilt and need into the contact.

Nothing. I feel absolutely nothing.

When we break apart, Damon looks flustered and slightly uncomfortable.

"Wow," he says, glancing around at the busy street. "That was... nice."

Nice. He called our kiss nice.

"I should get back to work," I say, stepping away from him before he can see the disappointment on my face.

"Right, yes. Don't want to keep you." He straightens his jumper, still looking a bit shellshocked. "I'll call you tonight?"

"Of course. "

He leans in for another quick kiss, a proper goodbye kiss this time, polite and appropriate, and then he's walking away, probably already thinking about spreadsheets and data analytics.

I watch him go, and the comparison is unavoidable. When Sebastian kissed me, I forgot my own name. When I kissed Damon just now, I was thinking about spreadsheets too.

Back in my office, I slump into my chair and stare at my computer screen without seeing it.

This is what I wanted, isn't it? My normal life, my safe relationship, my predictable future. No danger, no chaos, no men who make me feel like I'm drowning and flying at the same time.

So why do I feel like I'm slowly dying inside?

I pull out my phone and open Sebastian's message again, reading those twelve words that have somehow become the most important thing in my world.

Good morning, Saphy. I hope you slept well.

I didn't sleep well. I haven't slept well since Friday night. I lie awake thinking about grey eyes and dangerous smiles and the way he said my name like it was a prayer.

My fingers hover over the keyboard. I could reply. Something simple, meaningless. Just to prove to myself that he's just a man, that whatever spell he cast over me can be broken.

But I know better. I know that any response, any acknowledgment, any crack in my resolve will be exactly what he's waiting for.

So I close the message and shove the phone back in my drawer .

But I don't delete it.

Because despite everything, despite my promises to Beth, my love for Damon, my desperate need for normalcy, I'm not ready to let go.

And that terrifies me more than anything Sebastian Blackwood could ever do.