Miles woke before his alarm — not with clarity, but with that strange, tight pressure across his ribs again. The sensation felt almost intelligent, as though something in the room was holding its breath with him, waiting for him to finally face the thing he'd been avoiding since the night of the pre-engagement party.
Willow.
The memory of her beside him that night slid in like a blade — cold, precise, impossible to ignore. She had stood next to him like a woman carved from porcelain and ice. Back straight. Chin lifted. Voice clipped. Eyes refusing to meet his. Each glance she gave him was controlled, measured… distant.
That distance shocked him more than he admitted.
She had been meek once. Agreeable. Soft. His.
He had shaped her, taught her the world, guided her.
But at that party?
She was everything she used to fear being.
Sharp.
Unbending.
Untouchable.
And beautiful in a way that felt dangerous.
