The moment that familiar scent wrapped around her—the one she had yearned for, dreamed of, and craved endlessly—Janice knew it was him.
Charles.
That wide chest, that unyielding embrace—she could recognize it blindfolded.
The warm glow of the desk lamp spilled across the room, casting shadows over their entwined bodies. Once upon a time, he had dreamed of holding her like this forever. And now, she was finally back. Tangibly. Fully. In his arms.
He had watched her earlier—watched her laugh with Trista, soothe her, hold her, love her—and realized something devastatingly simple.
He could never truly hate her.
Because love had long ago devoured any room for hate. What he wanted—what he had always wanted—was a promise.
A single, lasting vow that she would never leave him again.
"Charles… what's wrong?" Janice asked softly, her body still, her breath shallow, held in his arms like a prayer.
He said nothing, but the silence spoke volumes.
