The morning light filtered softly through the heavy curtains, casting long, golden lines across the master bedroom. I woke up slowly, feeling a deep, comforting warmth wrapped around me. Ethan was still asleep, one of his heavy, muscled arms draped possessively over my waist, pulling my back flush against his bare chest. I listened to the steady, calm rhythm of his breathing. For a few minutes, I just lay there, letting myself believe that the nightmare was finally over. The phantom ache that had lived in my chest for five long years was gone, replaced by the reality of his skin against mine. Slowly, trying not to disturb him, I lifted his arm and slipped out of bed. I pulled on one of Ethan’s oversized white button-down shirts, the cotton smelling wonderfully of his cologne, and walked out into the quiet hallway. He looked so peaceful asleep, the hard, stressed lines completely erased from his face. I wanted to let him rest. After the public explosion at the gala last night, to
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