NATALIE
The moment I pulled into my parking spot and killed the engine, my phone buzzed with a new email.
The sound was sharp in the quiet of my car—a needle to my eardrum—making my pulse skip.
My heart jumped.
It’s from the firm. It has to be.
I grabbed my phone, thumb already swiping open my inbox. My eyes flicked to the sender line, ready to see Blaze & Bloom Advertising glowing in bold, sweet, career-saving letters.
But instead…
Edwin Adams.
My breath caught—sharp, sudden—like my ribs had decided to lock shut.
The subject line read: To My Natalie.
I froze. Stared at the screen as if the words might detonate if I touched them.
“Don’t open it,” I whispered to myself. My voice sounded too loud in the small, sealed space. “Do not open it.”
Of course, I opened it.
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To my Na
