Millie-Rose POV
The air felt different the moment I stepped off the plane.
Sharper. Colder. Heavy with memories I had once sworn never to face again.
Leo clung to my hand as we walked through the arrivals terminal, his sketchbook tucked under his arm, his small fingers warm and steady. I had expected fear to drown me the second my feet touched American soil, but instead something else rose in my chest…steel. Strength. A quiet, controlled fire.
Four years ago, I left this country broken, terrified, barely able to breathe.
Now I was walking back in with my head high, my hair cut short in a dark, sharp bob that brushed my shoulders, my makeup soft but intentional, my clothes neat and structured. I looked like a woman with a plan. A woman who owned her own story.
Not the girl they chased
