The Crimson Letter
She hadn’t been able to tell which, at first.
He’d challenged her, argued with her, mocked her chapters with a smirk that infuriated and enticed. But he had read her closely, deeply, like her words deserved to be studied. When he touched her, it was with hands that knew exactly where she broke and where she wanted to be broken.
They wrote together. Slept together. Fought like wolves.
It was lightning in a bottle. Until it wasn’t.
Sloane traced the photograph with her thumb. That summer had ended without a notice, just one silent morning and a missing manuscript. He had vanished, and with him went her trust, her future, and the story she thought she was going to tell.