Bella
I paused at the edge of the compound gate, the late afternoon sun slanting low and hot across my face. Something made me glance back up toward the third-floor window of the suite. There he was, Darrell, standing framed in the glass like a painting I didn’t want to remember. He held a white coffee cup in one hand, the steam curling lazily. Our eyes locked for a split second. Then came that small, knowing smirk, the kind that said he already owned the next time. He turned away slowly, fingers catching the cord of the blinds. One smooth pull and the slats snapped shut, cutting him off from view.
I let out a soft sigh that tasted like dust and regret.
My hand dipped into my bag before I could think better of it. Three thick bundles stared back at me—crisp edges, rubber-banded, and mor
