The text came in just after midnight.
Ava: Can I come over?
Tristan’s lips curved, slow and deliberate. He stared at the message for a moment longer than he should have, the faint glow of his phone lighting up his face.
He could almost see her— pacing her living room, mind tangled between guilt and longing.
Perfect.
But he didn’t reply. Not yet. Instead, he grabbed his jacket, stepped out into the night, and drove.
The parking lot behind the closed art gallery was empty except for one car. He pulled in beside it, headlights slicing briefly through the dark before shutting off.
The passenger door opened before he even reached for it.
A woman slipped into his car, the faint scent of jasmine and lavender following her. Her tone was all business, but her presence burned with something
