. Rain.
The stairs feel endless. Each step upward drags like I’m climbing through water, my legs heavy, my grocery bag cutting into my fingers. The paper is already torn at the bottom from where I dropped it.
I can still feel Rhysand’s heat behind me, hear his low husky voice in my ears. The way his body crowded mine against the wall, the storm in his eyes when he saw that shadow move behind my curtain.
My mother’s shadow. If he’d pushed past me, if he’d stormed up these stairs, if he’d seen her…
God. The thought makes bile rise in my throat.
The f*****g shitshow it would’ve been.
Rhysand, in his possessive and furious attitude, coming face-to-face with Crysta. She would have smelled money on him like a shark smells blood. She would’ve turned on the charm, the fake frailty, the sug
