The photo haunted me all night.
No matter how many times I crumpled it, shredded it, burned the pieces in my sink, it still crawled back under my skin like a virus.
Round two, sweetheart.
Your move.
My move.
Like this was still a game.
Like I wasn’t standing on the edge of something that could swallow me whole.
I didn’t sleep.
Didn’t eat.
I spent the hours until dawn pacing my apartment like a caged animal, the walls pressing in tighter every time I tried to breathe.
Because I knew Asher Beaumont.
And I knew he didn’t make empty threats.
If he marked today — the anniversary — then something was coming.
Something ugly.
And I wasn’t sure I was strong enough to survive it this time.
By the time the sun bled weakly through the blinds, I was already dressed in black — armor again
