He hadn’t heard from her in two days.
Not a single text. No missed calls. No messages. Nothing.
Enzo sat in the back of a sleek black car, the windows tinted dark, the city lights casting cold reflections on the glass. The driver said nothing, as always. Enzo’s phone buzzed with updates—business, security, Rafe’s messages—but none from the only person who mattered.
Amelia.
He stared at her name in his contact list. Her photo—captured one morning when she didn’t know he was looking—smiled back at him, eyes soft and hair messy, sunlight kissing her skin like it was made for her. He hadn’t changed it. He couldn’t. That version of her—open, untouched by distance—felt like a memory he was desperate to relive.
But she was pulling away. He felt it.
And Enzo hated the feeling of losing somet
