ESMERALDA'S POV
New York didn’t feel real at first. Or maybe I didn't just want to acknowledge it.
Even as the private jet touched down and the city stretched endlessly beyond the windows—steel, glass, movement, power—I felt like I was stepping into someone else’s life. Not mine. Not the quiet, simple rhythm I used to know.
This… this was Leoandros’ world now.
And now, somehow, it was mine too.
I barely remember the drive from the airport. I remember the blur of lights, the hum of the city even through the tinted windows, and most of all—I remember him.
My husband.
His hand resting on my thigh the entire time, firm, grounding, possessive in a way that made my pulse stutter instead of fear spike.
Him carry me and dressing me. The soft caressing of his hands.
But today.
Today.
He
