MasukSarra's POVThe coffee mug shattered in slow motion.I watched the pieces scatter across the kitchen floor—ceramic shards mixing with dark liquid, spreading like blood across the white tiles. My phone was still pressed to my ear, but Isabelle's voice had gone silent. Or maybe I'd hung up. I couldn't remember.Ronan was dead.The words didn't compute. They sat in my brain like foreign objects, refusing to integrate with reality.I'd left him four hours ago. Four hours. He'd been warm and alive and watching me with those eyes that saw too much. I'd driven away thinking about whether I could actually make this work, whether loving him was enough to overcome everything else.Now there was nothing to overcome. Nothing to work out. Nothing left but this cottage that smelled like him and memories I'd never get to make.My legs gave out.I sat down hard on the floor, right in the middle of the spilled coffee and broken ceramic. A shard cut into my palm but I barely felt it. Just watched blood
"Madame Moreau?"The doctor's face told me everything before his words could. I'd seen that expression before—careful sympathy, professional distance masking discomfort."I'm so sorry. We did everything we could, but the head trauma was too severe. He was without oxygen for too long. Mr. Thorne didn't make it."The words landed but didn't quite penetrate. Didn't make sense.Ronan was forty-two years old. Healthy. Strong. He couldn't just be gone."I want to see him," I said."I don't think that's advisable. Not with—" He glanced at Amélie, still wrapped in that ridiculous blanket, staring at nothing. "Perhaps it would be better to remember him as he was.""I want to see him," I repeated, my voice harder now."I'm afraid that's not possible right now. The body has already been transferred to the medical examiner's office. There are procedures, especially with accidental drownings. You'll be able to make arrangements in a few days."Medical examiner. Procedures. Arrangements.The clinic
Ronan's POVI woke up before Sarra, which almost never happened.She was curled against me, her hair spread across my chest, one hand resting over my heart. The morning light filtered through the floor-to-ceiling windows, turning everything soft and golden.Last night had been... I didn't have words for what last night had been.Desperate and tender and real in a way nothing had been in days. Like we'd both been drowning and finally found air.She stirred, her eyes opening slowly. For a moment, she just looked at me, and I couldn't read her expression."Hi," I said."Hi." Her voice was rough with sleep. "This doesn't fix everything.""I know.""I'm still angry. Still hurt. Still not sure about any of this.""I know that too." I tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. "But it's a start, right?"She was quiet for a moment. "Maybe."My phone rang, shattering the moment. Isabelle's name flashed on the screen."I should take this," I said.Sarra rolled away, pulling the sheet around hersel
Ronan's POVShe walked into the clinic wearing that damn leather jacket like armor, and I knew I was in trouble.Not because she looked angry—anger I could work with. But because she looked calm. Resolved. Like she'd already made her decision and was just here to fulfill an obligation before moving on with her life.A life that apparently didn't include me."Sarra." I stood from the waiting room chair, and Isabelle looked up from the magazine she'd been pretending to read."Ronan." She didn't smile. Didn't move toward me. Just stood there by the door like she might bolt at any second.Amélie, oblivious to the tension, bounced over. "Sarra! You came! I didn't think you would come!""I said I would." Sarra's voice softened when she looked at the little girl. "I keep my promises."The words were directed at Amélie, but they landed on me like a punch.The DNA test itself took less than fifteen minutes. A bored technician swabbed Ronan's cheek, then Amélie's, labeled the samples, and said
Sarra's POVI drove for twenty minutes before I had to pull over because I couldn't see through the tears.The rental car sat idling on the shoulder of the coastal highway, waves crashing somewhere below in the darkness. I pressed my forehead against the steering wheel and let myself fall apart.Three months. I'd upended my entire existence for a man I'd known for three months.What kind of person did that? What kind of person abandoned their friends, their apartment, their whole identity to follow someone to a town where the most exciting thing that happened was when the bakery got a new flavor of scone?The kind of person who was terrified of being alone. That's who.I pulled the key box from my pocket and opened it. The brass key gleamed under the dome light, promising escape. A fresh start in San Francisco. My own space. My own life.Adrian's life, a voice in my head corrected. Adrian's apartment. Adrian's offer. Still orbiting around a man instead of standing on my own.I closed
Ronan's POVThe question hung between us like smoke.Sarra stood there holding that stupid box, and I could see her considering it. Actually considering walking away from everything we'd built in the past three months and moving into some apartment provided by a man who'd known her for four days.Four days.I'd known her for three months. We'd been living together for two. We'd made plans—nothing concrete, but plans nonetheless. Talked about maybe getting a dog when spring came. About her setting up a proper office in the spare room. About quiet mornings and quieter nights.And now she was holding a key to someone else's apartment."I don't know," she said finally.The honesty was worse than a lie would have been."You don't know." I repeated the words slowly. "You don't know if you're going to leave me and move into an apartment owned by a man who's been manipulating you since the moment you met him.""He hasn't been manipulating me—""Yes, he has! Sarra, wake up. He admitted he wasn
Ronan's POVI sat in my car outside the Seaside Inn for twenty minutes before I could make myself go inside.The truth was, I was terrified.Not of Isabelle—I'd dealt with her before, knew her games, her manipulations. We'd burned bright and fast eight years ago, then crashed even faster. She was b
Ronan's POVSarra's expression shifted—defensive, guarded. "What does it matter?""What does it—" I stopped myself, trying to find calm I didn't feel. "You're in a hotel with a complete stranger and you're asking me what does it matter?""He's not a stranger. We talked for hours.""Hours?" The jeal
Ronan's POVI called Sarra twelve times in three hours.By the fourth hour, I was in the car.She'd turned off her phone—I could tell because it went straight to voicemail without ringing. That meant she didn't want to be found, which meant she was either walking somewhere remote or she'd gone into
Sarra's POVMy heart kicked hard against my ribs."I'd say that's either a really terrible pickup line or you're a stalker." I kept my voice steady, but my hand moved closer to my glass—a weapon if I needed one.Adrian laughed, and the tension broke like a snapped rubber band. "Relax. I'm joking. B







