The air in the room didn't just feel cold; it felt heavy, a static charge of tension that made the hair on my arms stand up. The door behind us remained slightly ajar, a useless sliver of the outside world that offered no comfort and no escape.
My composure was disintegrating. Every frantic heartbeat hammered home the same humiliating truth: I was a mess, exposed and filthy under the weight of my own secrets.
Kyouya—or Velvet, though the name felt like a lie now—wasn't about to let the moment breathe. She moved with a predatory efficiency, kicking the door shut.
The click of the latch sounded like a gavel. Suddenly, the vastness of the room shrank until there was only the two of us, the space between us thick with an intimacy that felt more like a threat than an invitation.
"So... Mayo."
The name felt like a slur coming from those lips. Hearing that low, masculine resonance vibrating through a female frame sent a jolt of cognitive dissonance through my brain.
