Sasha’s POV
The storm outside whispered like an old lover, brushing rain against the trees in soft sighs, the wind curling low and thoughtful against the stone bones of our cottage. The night pressed in gentle and gray, but inside, the world pulsed warm—cradled in candlelight and the red flicker of a dying hearth.
It was the kind of stillness that felt sacred. Stolen.
I lay wrapped in Alex’s arms, his body a fortress of heat and muscle against mine. The linen sheets tangled around our legs like vines, and I could feel every inch of him—solid, steady, familiar. His breath stirred the hair at my neck, his lips brushing the shell of my ear with every slow exhale.
We hadn’t meant to fall into each other again tonight.
Not after the stillness I couldn’t name. Not with the shadow curling a
