The morning after Damien had slipped into her room, Sierra awoke with a tightness in her chest that no amount of breathing could ease. Her sheets still smelled faintly of his cologne, his skin, his sin.
She sat up quickly, pressing her palms into her eyes. It wasn’t a dream. It never was.
The lake house was quiet, though not in the peaceful way she remembered from childhood summers. Now it was the hush of a stage just before the curtain rose, the silence of held breath. Every creak of the wood, every flutter of curtains in the morning breeze felt loaded, as though the house itself knew her secret.
She showered longer than necessary, hoping the heat would scrub his touch from her skin. It didn’t. By the time she came down to breakfast, Vanessa was already at the table, her hair in soft c
