Dalton's POV
She has a fiancé.
A f*****g fiancé.
I stare at her, my body rigid, my hands curled into fists at my sides. The words are still ringing in my ears, sinking in like a slow, poisoned blade.
I was supposed to marry him.
What the f**k?
I won’t lie—I already liked her. Maybe too much. Right from the day I found her in the woods, broken and helpless but still full of fire. I liked the way she looked at me, unafraid. The way she challenged me, even when she had no strength left to stand.
And last night?
Last night had set something in me ablaze. She had wanted me. I felt it. Every touch, every kiss—it wasn’t hesitation, it wasn’t regret. She had chosen me in that moment.
But now she’s looking at me like I was a mistake. Like last night never should’ve happened.
And I hate it
