Camila's POV
Ian was already gone when I woke up.
His side of the bed was cold. The pillow undisturbed enough to tell me he hadn't slept in it long. I lay there for a moment staring at the ceiling, one hand resting on the empty space beside me.
Then I sat up.
The house was quiet in that particular way it got when Ian was in his office — a door closed at the end of a hallway, the air holding its breath. I'd learned the difference between his silences over the years. The comfortable ones and the distracted ones.
This was neither.
I reached for my phone. Not even a single message.
I set it face-down on the nightstand and got up.
My reflection in the bathroom mirror looked exactly as it should. Hair loose, skin clean, silk robe catching the morning light. I studied myself for a moment,
