The morning after Ethan invaded her apartment, Ava woke with a knot in her chest.
He was gone by dawn, but not without leaving his mark. His jacket hung on her chair, his cologne lingered on her sheets, and her lips were still swollen from the kiss that had stripped her of every defense.
She should have been angry. She should have been calling her friend, venting, reclaiming her space. But instead, she sat at her kitchen table staring at her untouched coffee, her mind replaying the moment his voice cracked as he whispered, I’ll try for you.
It was a dangerous promise.
And she knew Ethan Wolfe didn’t know the meaning of try.
By the time she got to work, the office was humming with its usual Monday chaos. But there was a different energy today—excited whispers, stolen glances, the sound
