The walk back from the gardens felt like a dream, the cool night air pressing against the heat of my skin. Demetrius kept his hand firmly in mine, his presence at my side a constant, grounding force. We reached the heavy oak doors of my mini-apartment in the West Wing, the hallway quiet and bathed in the soft glow of the amber wall sconces.
He stopped, turning to face me. The hallway was narrow, making his large frame feel even more imposing. He reached out, his thumb grazing my cheek one last time.
"Goodnight, Rachel," he murmured, his voice thick with a restraint that made my skin itch. He leaned down, catching my lips in a kiss that was meant to be a goodbye—gentle, lingering, and cautious.
As he began to pull back, something inside me snapped. I was tired of being the fragile thing
