My chat with Willow tapered off as dawn’s first light crept near. I ended the call, mindful that she, ever the beauty enthusiast, prized her sleep—only my updates had kept her awake. Yet, as I scanned my phone, the man who’d given it to me had sent no messages, his silence a curious void in the waning night.
I hesitated, then dialed Nate for a video call. The screen flickered, revealing a dimly lit scene: a bathroom, water pattering softly. The camera focused first on the tiled wall behind him, steam curling in the air, before settling on Nate’s chiseled features. He swept wet hair back, droplets clinging to his skin, seemingly unbothered by the call as he continued his shower, the phone propped somewhere nearby.
My intended words faltered, caught in my throat. My gaze, despite my effort
