Maria Reyes
I opened my eyes to a soft, golden glow flickering across the stone walls. The room felt old, like a castle from a storybook, with its heavy beams overhead and a fireplace crackling in the corner.
My body ached—bruises throbbed from the attack in the car park, my nose still tender from where I’d been hit—but the quiet here wrapped around me like a blanket. The air smelled of woodsmoke and wax, warm and steady, pulling me into a strange calm. I shifted on the bed, the mattress soft beneath me, and that’s when I saw him.
Darian Wolfe stood by the fireplace, shirtless, pouring wine into a glass. The firelight danced over his broad shoulders, catching the scars that slashed across his skin—marks of a life I was only beginning to understand.
He looked peaceful, his movements sl
