Amelia woke with the unsettling feeling that her thoughts had been rearranged while she slept.
Not erased.
Not replaced.
Just… nudged. As though someone had gently shifted furniture in her mind and expected her not to notice the difference.
She lay still in her apartment, staring at the ceiling, breathing slowly. Her chest felt tight—not painful, but heavy, like an invisible hand had rested there overnight and forgotten to lift.
Ethan’s face surfaced unbidden.
Not the composed CEO the world knew. Not even the guarded man she had grown used to navigating. This was the Ethan from the night before—his jaw clenched, his voice low and urgent when he’d told her she was under his protection.
At the time, she hadn’t known what to do with that statement.
This morning, it echoed differently.
