They say your first heartbreak changes you.
Mine wore a suit, smelled like danger, and kissed me like I was the only thing that had ever mattered.
Then he disappeared.
No calls.
No texts.
No reason.
Just gone.
One day, he was whispering my name like a promise.
The next, he was a ghost.
I tried to forget him. God knows I tried.
But I couldn't erase the way his hands trembled when they held me, like I was something breakable.
Or the way he looked at me—like he saw the parts I kept buried and loved me anyway.
I couldn't forget the kiss.
The kiss that shattered me.
And now, after months of silence, after I've pieced myself back together he's back.
In the rain.
Outside my door.
Eyes darker than I remember.
Saying things that make my chest ache.
Telling me I'm still his.
But this time, it's not just my heart on the line.
Because he's not just the man who left.
He's the one who says we're being hunted.
And whether I want to
be or not...
I'm already in too deep.