Nickolas*
The hallway was quiet, save for the echo of my boots striking against the marble floor. My hands were shoved deep into my coat pockets, and my mind was a hurricane of thoughts, each one tied to Eleanor. Her face. Her voice. Her tears. The way she’d curled into me, like I was the only safe place left in her broken world. And that promise I made—etched into the core of my soul now.
I was still replaying it all when I pushed the door to my room open.
Only to find Delilah inside.
She was standing by the fireplace, a glass of wine in her hand. Her posture was poised, composed, as always. Her long dark hair was draped over one shoulder, her dress clinging to her figure like it was stitched from smoke and silk. She turned at the sound of the door closing behind me, and her lips curl
