Rain fell over Ashridge before dawn.
It tapped against the clubhouse windows in a steady rhythm, soft enough to sound peaceful—if Willow hadn’t spent most of the night staring at the ceiling.
Every time she closed her eyes, she saw Ethan Vale.
Blood on his shirt.
Fear in his eyes.
His fingers wrapped around her wrist.
They know.
Then came the memory she had buried beneath months of grief and humiliation.
The man in the dark suit.
The quiet command.
You need to let him go.
Willow sat up and reached for the glass of water beside her bed.
Her hands were shaking.
She hated that.
She had stood in operating rooms while lives slipped through her fingers. She had delivered devastating news to families. She had faced death more times than most people could imagine.
But this was diffe
