The early May breeze carried salt and promise as I stood on the shore of Tod’s Point, Greenwich’s quiet beach stretching before Long Island Sound. It was a week since Justin’s penthouse dinner, since we’d said I love you under the stars, his kiss sealing a truth I was still learning to trust. My jet-black hair whipped in the wind, my navy sundress fluttering against my plus-sized curves, my bare feet sinking into the cool sand. Justin had suggested a late-night walk here, away from Greenwich Avenue’s prying eyes, and my heart raced at the thought of him—his hazel eyes, his touch, our love now real but fragile under the world’s gaze.
He appeared from the path, his white shirt unbuttoned at the collar, his dark hair tousled by the breeze. “Kayla,” he said, his smile raw, pulling me into his
