Chapter 2

The bathroom door opened, and Kyle walked out in nothing but a towel. Water slid down the hard lines of his chest.

I folded the promotion file at once and shoved it into my bag.

“What are you writing?” he asked while toweling off.

“Next patrol schedule.” I zipped the bag shut and tried to make my voice sound casual.

Kyle barely paid attention. He kept drying his wet hair and said, almost lazily, “If you’re that tired, maybe stop being my deputy. My position is enough for us to live well anyway.”

I looked at him.

Five years.

And he still had no idea who I really was.

He knew I had turned down three promotions for him. He knew patrolling the territory meant everything to me.

And he still said that.

“We’ll see,” I said, swallowing the bitterness rising in my throat.

I lowered my eyes and took a slow breath, forcing myself to stay calm.

It’s fine.

In fourteen days, I’ll be gone.

Gone from the Blackthorn clan. Gone from the man who never once took my ambition seriously.

When I got back into bed, Kyle’s arm slipped around me from behind.

He pressed close, warm and damp from the shower, his hand sliding under my silk nightdress.

I caught his wrist. My whole body went rigid.

“Don’t touch me.”

A dozen images flashed through my mind—

the photo Selena posted on Instagram, her red-painted nails resting lightly against Kyle’s wrist.

Kyle felt me resisting and sounded surprised.

“What’s wrong?”

I pulled free from his arms and turned over.

“I don’t feel well.”

He went quiet for a moment. Then he leaned in and kissed my hair, his warm palm settling over my lower stomach.

“Does this feel better?”

In the dark, I shut my eyes, and tears began to gather.

His tenderness felt real.

So did the betrayal.

If he really cared about me, why was he still tangled up with his ex?

Just then, the phone on the nightstand lit up.

I glanced at it instinctively—

a message from Selena:

Remember item number three on your eighteen-year-old wish list? Boating in Central Park. I’m waiting at the dock.

My heart dropped straight to the bottom.

Last Saturday, Kyle had just promised to take me to Central Park. I had even reserved a tandem boat.

But of course—

his ex got the gift first, and now she got our date first too.

Kyle saw the message.

He got up immediately.

“There’s something urgent with the clan. I have to go.”

I watched him put on the navy-blue shirt I had given him for his birthday, and the words slipped out before I could stop them:

“I want to go to Central Park. Right now.”

His hands paused on his tie.

“Next week,” he said. “I’m too busy this week. I’ll take you next week.”

He picked up his phone, sprayed on cologne, and left.

The second the door shut, I whispered into the silence,

“Am I supposed to just keep waiting forever?”

It had not always been like this.

Last winter, I casually mentioned wanting to see Niagara Falls, and by the next morning he had already booked the tickets, the hotel, everything.

Now?

One text from his ex, and every plan we had was gone.

I walked to the window and watched his car disappear around the corner.

Then I turned back toward the living room and looked at the wall of photographs.

That familiar tightness hit my chest again.

Five years.

Thousands upon thousands of photos.

I had chosen one hundred and pinned them across the wall.

The first—

our first patrol together, both in black uniforms, secretly hooking pinkies for the camera.

The second—

our first kiss under Tokyo Tower, cherry blossoms falling while fireworks exploded overhead.

The third—

beneath the northern lights in Alaska, him handing me his coat, lips purple from the cold, still smiling at me like I was worth freezing for.

The fourth—

New Year’s Eve in Las Vegas, holding each other under a storm of falling confetti.

…

Every photo had a story behind it.

Every story was a memory I thought I would keep forever.

The first time Kyle saw me hanging them up, he wrapped an arm around my waist and laughed.

“One hundred photos means we’ll love each other for a hundred years.”

Looking back now, that promise lasted far less time than I ever imagined.