Nadia’s POV The next morning, I woke up with a strange, pulsing feeling in my chest. It took me a few seconds of staring at the white hotel ceiling to remember why. Then, the sunlight began to bleed through the heavy curtains, illuminating the room and bringing everything crashing back. The divorce. Callum. The way his skin felt against mine in the dark. The way he looked at me over coffee, like I was a woman worth exploring, not a piece of furniture to be rearranged. I laid in bed for a long time staring at the ceiling, the silk sheets cool against my bare legs. I slowly turned my head toward the chair near the window. My coat was tossed over it, my phone hidden in the pocket. A tiny, stupid part of me wanted it to light up with a text from him. I wanted to hear his voice, low and gravelly, whispering my name. I shook my head at myself, the movement making my hair fan out over the pillow. I barely knew him, yet somehow he already occupied space inside my head. I sat up slowly
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