Hope is a fragile thing, but when Saint told me we would find the house this month, I clung to it like a lifeline.The way he said it—firm, certain, like it was carved into him, made me believe it wasn’t just a promise. It was a decision. And for the first time in weeks, the city felt a little less suffocating.I woke up lighter the next morning. The air in the penthouse wasn’t so heavy, the skyline outside the window not so threatening. I made coffee, humming softly, and when Saint walked into the kitchen, he paused, watching me with a look I couldn’t quite read.“What?” I asked, smiling despite myself.“You’re glowing,” he said simply.I rolled my eyes, but heat bloomed in my cheeks. “Maybe I’m just happy.”“Good,” he said, kissing me before grabbing his mug. “Stay that way.”We started looking that very day. Not seriously yet—more driving, more wandering, more pointing out houses with porches and gardens, but it felt different this time. More real. More possible.The city fell behi
Last Updated : 2025-10-18 Read more