ELARA Golden hour cloaked the Amalfi cliffs in amber and honey. The wind was soft, sweet, and almost cruel in how gently it touched me as if mocking the ache I carried. I stood on the marble terrace of the villa, the sea stretching endlessly ahead, pretending I belonged in this postcard-perfect moment. I didn't. Milo’s laughter rang behind me like church bells. I turned, caught sight of my son—three years old, barefoot, chasing his own shadow across the tiles. His curls bounced as he ran, joy painting his cheeks. That boy was my everything. My reason. My breath. I smiled. Or tried to. "Wine?" Ethan's voice slid beside me, warm and smooth like polished lies. I looked up to see him holding out a glass. His smile was practiced, charming, so damn sweet it made my stomach twist. "Thank you," I said, taking the glass. Sienna laughed behind him. I glanced over. She was sprawled on the lounger beside the infinity pool, her legs crossed, sunglasses perched high, a sheer wrap clinging
Last Updated : 2025-07-13 Read more