The apartment was quiet when I walked in. Not the heavy kind of quiet that drips with tension… but the kind that sinks into your bones, warm and almost tender.
The lights in the living room were dim, a soft golden glow spilling from the lamp by the couch. And there she was.
Ariana.
She’d curled up sideways, her knees tucked in, one arm draped lazily over a throw pillow. Her hair was a little messy, strands fanned over her cheek, and her breathing was slow, deep, steady. She didn’t even stir when I closed the door.
For a moment, I just stood there.
God, after everything today—the argument with Mark, the venom, the threats—I thought I’d be too wound up to feel anything but rage. But looking at her now… that all slipped away.
It’s strange, isn’t it? How one person can be your calm and y
