Dani:
The neon lights of the Vegas Strip flickered outside our hotel room, casting colorful shadows across the polished floor. The sounds of the city—distant laughter, the hum of slot machines, the occasional honking car—felt like a world away from everything we’d faced together.
In the quiet of the room, all that mattered was the man standing in front of me.
Ryan.
My Ryan.
I used to think love came with grand gestures—slow-motion kisses in the rain, orchestras swelling in the background, movie-script declarations. But with Ryan, it came quietly. In the way he always knew when I needed silence more than words. In the steady presence of his hand on mine when the world tilted sideways. In the late nights at the hospital—after he had killed for me—his fingers brushing crumbs off my face
