JJ
For four days, Havoc did not hit me.
He did not accuse me of flirting with customers, search my bag when I came home, or demand an explanation for every minute between the shop and the house. He told me when he planned to be out late. Once, he even asked whether I wanted him to bring dinner home.
The change should have felt like relief.
Instead, it made me careful.
Havoc’s good moods were never gifts. They were investments. He gave kindness the way other men placed bets, always expecting to collect more than he offered.
Still, every time I thought about the forty-two minutes he had given me with Millie, hope climbed over everything I knew.
Maybe this was working.
Maybe if I smiled when he walked in, answered his questions without hesitation, and stopped reacting when he disappe
