The night felt heavier than usual.
The city’s lights shimmered like scattered stars reflected on glass, but Elena couldn’t shake the shadow pressing against her heart. Damian’s presence lingered even in his absence—his scent in her memory, his voice still echoing from their last conversation.
She stood by her apartment window, watching the rain fall in soft streaks. Her fingers brushed the cold glass as she whispered to herself, “Why can’t I stop thinking about him?”
Her mind betrayed her, replaying the smallest things: the way Damian’s eyes softened when he looked at her, how his touch carried both warmth and control. Yet every moment of tenderness was haunted by Lucas’s warning—Damian Blackwell is dangerous.
Dangerous.
The word clung to her, whispering against the fragile rhythm of
