Lilian had always known what kind of man Morrison was.
His past relationships, the long string of names whispered behind closed doors, the rumors in the papers—she knew them all, and she had rejected him, resisted him, for those very reasons.
But even so, the one falling deeper and deeper… was still her.
She had once sworn never to let anyone get close enough to hurt her. She had even told herself she didn't need love or marriage. A quiet life on her own was enough. Simple, peaceful, safe.
Yet now that she was truly in love, she realized how childish, how naive those promises had been.
Love didn't care about logic. Love didn't ask for permission.
She had thought she was in control—that as long as she didn't want to fall, nothing could touch her.
Now she understood. It wasn't people who ruled love; it was love that ruled people. Love that dictated joy and sorrow, courage and fear. It decided who would cry, who would laugh, who would be broken, and who would burn.
