The city blurred past in ribbons of gold and silver.
Streetlights spilled across the windshield in fractured patterns. Neon signs reflected against polished glass. Midnight softened the edges of the world, making everything look quieter than it really was.
Inside Rowan Blackwood’s car, silence wrapped around them like velvet.
Soft.
Heavy.
Dangerous.
Emma sat in the passenger seat, her body angled slightly toward the window.
Her black silk dress still clung to her skin like memory.
Her hair fell in soft waves over one shoulder.
The diamonds at her ears caught passing light.
Her fingers toyed absently with the stem of the champagne flute she had somehow stolen from the gala.
She wasn’t even drinking it.
Just holding it.
Like proof tonight had happened.
Rowan drove.
One hand on
