Mikhail's POV
Houston, Texas
I see her before she sees me. One heartbeat. That's all it takes for the last two years to collapse into nothing. She's standing near the marble staircase in an emerald dress that clings to every curve I once memorized with my mouth. Hair longer, sun-kissed at the ends, twisted up in a careless knot that begs to be undone. Skin glowing under the chandeliers like she's been kissed by a different sun than the one that used to watch us bleed. She looks happy. The realization hits me like a blade between the ribs. She's laughing at something an old woman is saying, head thrown back, throat exposed, and I have to grip my glass so hard the stem threatens to snap. Two years of discipline, of turning myself into something colder than winter, and one glimpse of
