Bethel's POV
The heavy oak door clicked shut behind him, the sound final and absolute, but it did nothing to silence the roar in my ears.
I sat frozen on the edge of the mahogany desk for what felt like an eternity, the acoustic guitar still resting heavily in my lap. The wood was cooling now, losing the warmth of his hands, but my skin refused to let go of the memory. My fingertips throbbed with a phantom pressure, ghost sensations of his calluses against mine, the deliberate, possessive weight of his palm anchoring me to the spot.
*One chord.* That was all he’d given me. A single, perfect G major that sounded less like music and more like a vow.
I carefully placed the guitar back into its case, my movements clumsy and uncoordinated. My fingers felt foreign, useless without his guidan
