LAURA’S POVI watched him through the open bathroom door, the sound of the shower cascading like distant rain. Steam curled around the frame, hiding his silhouette—broad shoulders, taut back, that same scar tracing his spine. A mark from some war I never asked about, a story I had never been allowed close enough to hear.And now, I never would.The contract lay heavy in my hands, too familiar now. Seven pages of clean clauses and cold stipulations. Seven pages that had dictated the way he looked at me, touched me, spoke to me. A paper prison dressed as a promise.I used to trace his face in the dark, searching for something real beneath his indifference.Now, I traced my thumb along the sharp edge of that contract, wondering if it had ever meant anything at all.“Elijah…” My voice cracked—quiet, tentative, almost childlike.No answer.Just the hiss of water, the same as it was every morning. Like routine could erase what we had become.But this morning wasn’t like the others. It was t
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