Mason’s P.O.V.
Bella.
Her name echoed in my mind like a heartbeat, slow and rhythmic.
Bella.
I wasn’t sure if I was awake or asleep, dreaming or remembering. The line had blurred days ago.
Her scent. Her laughter. Her hands running through my hair.
The way she whispered, “You’re mine,” in the dark after the world had ended for both of us a dozen times.
Bella.
I whispered it aloud.
My voice was hoarse. It cracked like I hadn’t used it in days. I blinked against the dimness, the room coming into slow, murky focus like I was underwater.
A ceiling.
Recessed lights above a sleek headboard.
Soft shadows stretched over plush cream carpeting and elegant slate-colored drapes. I was on a bed—king-size, luxurious, wrapped in silky sheets that felt like they belonged in a high-end suite. T
