Chapter 13 VIRGINITY VORTEX
POV SYLVIE
The first thing I registered was the weight. It was heavy, warm, and smelled faintly of expensive sandalwood and the kind of high-end gin that costs more than my monthly grocery budget.
The second thing I registered was the silence. No camera flashes. No reporters. No Dean Higgins lecturing me on "reputational damage."
The third thing—and the one that sent a jolt of pure, unadulterated electricity through my spine—was the fact that my legs were tangled with another pair of much longer, much hairier legs.
I opened one eye. Then the other.
The ceiling was white. Expensive white. The kind of crown molding you only find in the Cavill city townhouse. Slowly, with the dread of a woman approaching a guillotine, I tilted my head.
Nathaniel was asleep. His face, usually a masterpiece of icy arrogance, was soft. His mouth was slightly open, and a lock of dark hair was falling over his forehead. He looked human. He looked peaceful.
He also looked... very naked. Or at least, his shoulders were bare, and the way the duvet was draped suggested that the "liquid moonlight" dress from last night was currently a crumpled pile of silk on the floor.
I looked down at myself. I was in my underwear. Just my lace bra and the matching thong Chloe had forced me to buy for "luck." My silver dress was indeed a tragic heap near the velvet armchair.
My heart didn't just beat; it performed a frantic tap-dance against my ribs.
Oh my god.
Oh my actual, literal, academic-scholarship god.
Memories of last night started hitting me in flashes. The champagne. The balcony kiss that felt like a nuclear explosion. The car ride home where we were laughing—actually laughing—about Elena’s face. Then... we got to the townhouse. We were tired. We were "buzzing" from the adrenaline. We came into the bedroom to "talk itinerary."
And now? Now I was half-naked in a billionaire’s bed with a headache that felt like a tiny construction crew was jackhammering my skull.
"Sylvie?" Nathaniel groaned, his voice a low, gravelly rasp that sent a fresh wave of panic through my system.
"Don't move!" I squeaked, my voice hitting a pitch only dogs could hear. I scrambled backward, tripping over the duvet and nearly falling off the edge of the mattress. "Nathaniel, do not move an inch! Stay in your lane! Stay in your hemisphere!"
He blinked, rubbing his eyes, looking utterly confused. "What are you shouting about? It's... seven in the morning."
"Seven in the morning? Seven in the morning is the time people wake up for exams! Not the time people wake up to find out they’ve... they’ve..." I gestured frantically between us, my face burning so hot I was surprised the smoke detectors weren't going off. "Nathaniel, did we... did we do the... the deed?"
Nathaniel sat up, the duvet sliding down to his waist. He was definitely shirtless. My brain short-circuited. Abs. Why are there so many abs? It’s inefficient.
"The deed?" he repeated, a slow, infuriating smirk beginning to spread across his face. "You mean did we consummate our fake engagement in a drunken blur of silver silk and champagne?"
"Yes! That! The thing! The biological interaction! Nathaniel, I was a virgin! I had a plan! I was going to wait until I had a law degree and a stable retirement fund! I can't have lost my V-card to my rival in a 'practice' session gone wrong!"
I was spiraling. I was in a full-blown Virginity Vortex. I started pacing the room—which was a mistake because I was still in my underwear—and waving my arms around like a panicked windmill.
"This is a disaster. This is a tort! This is 'Intentional Infliction of Emotional Distress'! I’m going to sue you! I’m going to sue myself! My mother was right, the golden cage has turned me into a degenerate!"
"Sylvie, breathe," Nathaniel said, though he was clearly fighting the urge to laugh.
"I can't breathe! I’ve lost my innocence to a Cavill! I’m a cliché! I’m a trope! I’m the girl in the paperback novel with the shirtless guy on the cover!"
"Sylvie, look at me."
"No! I can't look at you! Your shoulders are too distracting and my life is a wreckage of shattered morals!"
Suddenly, the bedroom door swung open without a knock.
"Mr. Cavill, your grandfather requires the final guest list for the—"
Silas stopped.
The silence that followed was so heavy it could have crushed a diamond. Silas, the man who looked like he hadn't felt an emotion since 1985, stared at me—standing in the middle of the room in my matching lace underwear—and then at Nathaniel, who was shirtless and messy-haired in the bed.
Silas slowly adjusted his glasses. He looked at the silver dress on the floor. He looked at my frantic expression.
"I see," Silas said, his voice as dry as a desert bone. "I shall inform Arthur that the 'itinerary' has been successfully completed. Most... thoroughly."
"Silas, wait!" I yelled, grabbing a decorative pillow from the floor and hugging it to my chest like a shield. "It's not what it looks like! We were just... discussing! There was a misunderstanding of the physical boundaries! I’m still a dignified scholar!"
"Of course, Miss Belrose," Silas said, his face a mask of professional boredom. "Dignified scholars often discuss tort law in their lingerie at seven in the morning. I shall have the housekeeper bring up some 'recovery' tea. And perhaps some aspirin. For the... exertion."
He backed out of the room and closed the door with a soft, judgmental click.
I stood there, frozen, still clutching the velvet pillow. My life was over. Silas was going to tell Arthur. Arthur was going to tell the world. My mother was going to find out I was a "degenerate" via a press release.
I turned to Nathaniel, ready to unleash a scream that would break the windows.
He was laughing. Not just a smirk. A full, deep, shoulder-shaking laugh.
"It's not funny, you golden-haired demon! My reputation is in tatters! I have entered a state of crisis!"
"Sylvie," he said, catching his breath and leaning back against the headboard. "Calm down. We didn't do it."
I stopped mid-scream. "What?"
"We didn't sleep together. You got back here, complained that your corset was 'stabbing your soul,' and asked me to help you unhook it. You were so tired you practically fell asleep standing up. I put you in the bed, you kicked me when I tried to leave and told me it was 'my duty' to stay, and I was too exhausted to argue. I took off my shirt because I don't sleep in tuxedos, and I stayed on my side of the bed. Nothing happened. Your 'V-card' is perfectly safe."
The silence returned, but this time it was filled with my own crushing embarrassment.
"Oh," I whispered.
"Yeah. 'Oh'."
"So... the legs?"
"You moved in your sleep, Belrose. You’re a very aggressive cuddler. I think you actually tried to use my calf as a footrest."
I slowly let the pillow drop. My face was no longer just red; it was a shade of purple that didn't exist in nature. "So... I made a fool of myself. In front of you. And Silas."
"Extensively," Nathaniel agreed, his eyes twinkling with mischief. "The part about the 'Virginity Vortex' was particularly poetic. I might have to write that down for the engagement speech."
"If you mention the vortex, I will actually murder you."
"Fair enough." He stood up—thankfully he was wearing boxer briefs—and walked over to me. He stood right in front of me, his height making me feel even smaller in my lace underwear. He didn't touch me, but the air between us was suddenly heavy again. "But Sylvie?"
"What?"
"For the record... if we had done it, you wouldn't be questioning it this morning. You’d know."
He winked—he actually winked—and walked into the bathroom, closing the door behind him.
I stood there, alone in the middle of the room, clutching my luckiest, most embarrassing lace underwear. My crisis was over, but a new one was beginning. Because as I listened to the sound of the shower, I realized the most terrifying thing of all.
I wasn't relieved that nothing had happened.
I was... disappointed.
"I am a mess," I whispered to the empty room. "A brilliant, scholarship-winning, degenerate mess."
I grabbed my silver dress from the floor and ran for the guest room before Nathaniel could come back out and see that I was still standing there like a statue. The Engagement Party was over, but the real war—the one inside my own heart—was just getting started. And I was pretty sure I was losing.