When I arrived at the house, my steps were slow, dragging with every movement. My head felt heavy, my body weighed down by the fever that seemed to have taken over. The house was quiet, save for the scent of a warm dinner wafting from the table—Cross must have made it. But I couldn’t bring myself to care about food.
All I could think of was how weak I felt, how exhausted my body was, and how I longed for the comfort I knew Vincent would give me.
I trudged upstairs, each step a struggle. When I finally reached the bedroom, I collapsed onto the bed, burying my face in the pillow as tears began to spill. The fever raged inside me, and it felt like I couldn’t escape it. My body trembled from the cold, despite the heat that burned beneath my skin.
“Vincent sweetheart…” I whispered softly to
