Elena’s POV
Victor came home near midnight. I was still awake, staring at the ceiling, replaying every sensation from earlier—the way Damien’s hands had felt against my skin, the fire in his eyes, the promise threading through his voice.
“You’re up,” Victor said, surprised, loosening his tie.
“Couldn’t sleep.” I sat up, the silk nightgown slipping off one shoulder—the way it once made him pounce. Tonight? He barely looked. “Victor, we need to talk.”
“Can it wait? I’m exhausted.” He shuffled toward the bathroom, stripping off clothes.
“No, it can’t.” My voice cracked sharper than I intended, edged with everything I’d been swallowing for days. “We came here to reconnect. But you’re never here. When you are, you’re distracted. I feel invisible.”
He sighed—the kind of long-suffering ex
