March 15, 2027.
The kiss with Ryan haunted me.
Not just the memory of his mouth—hot, confident, uncomplicated—but the way my body had answered.
For seconds, I’d wanted it.
Wanted him.
The guilt was a living thing now.
Clawing.
I barely slept.
When Damien came back from his trip, I smiled.
Kissed him hello.
Let him make love to me.
But my mind wandered.
To Ryan’s hands.
To the freedom of a touch that didn’t come with a lifetime of fallout.
Damien noticed.
Of course he did.
“You’re somewhere else,” he said after.
We were in bed.
Lights low.
His hand tracing my back.
I turned to face him.
“I’m here.”
He searched my eyes.
“Are you?”
Tears came fast.
He pulled me close.
“What’s wrong?”
I almost told him.
The words on my tongue.
But I swallowed them.
“Just tired.”
