I carried Seraphina into her apartment, her body light in my arms. Her scent surrounded me—subtle vanilla mixed with something uniquely her—intoxicating even in her unconscious state. Despite the temptation her sleeping form presented, I refused to violate her trust. I'd seen too many men like Harrison Powell, taking what wasn't freely given.
Her apartment was small but clean, decorated with the modest touches of a college student. I found her bedroom easily—the door half-open revealing a neatly made bed with lavender sheets. Gently, I laid her down, careful not to wake her.
As I stepped back to leave, something caught my eye. Her desk was covered with academic awards and medals—more than I'd expected. Each plaque and certificate told the story of a dedicated student who'd worked hard for her achievements. Several trophies for track events lined a small shelf above the desk.
