Blaze reached out and laid a hand on her shoulder—gentle, reassuring.
That voice, low and velvety like a cello, had always been the one thing that could soothe Cecilia's restless heart.
But not tonight.
"Please," she said quietly, stepping out of his reach, "keep your distance."
For a moment, something flickered across Blaze's striking face—confusion, maybe even hurt. He rubbed his thumb against his palm unconsciously, as if trying to chase the lingering warmth that still clung to his skin.
"Cecilia… I think you've misunderstood something. Those roses—"
"I haven't misunderstood anything."
Her voice was calm but cold.
Did he think a few grand gestures could make up for the fact that he belonged to someone else?
Did he believe a truck full of roses could buy forgiveness, or erase betrayal?
Cecilia wasn't some obedient pet waiting for scraps of affection. She had pride.
