My Swimmer Stepbrother's Forbidden Claim
When Fatima finally crossed the threshold of the cottage, the professional mask Tanya had worn since arriving in the North cracked beyond repair.
The reunion was a chaotic, tearful collision. Fatima didn't just walk in; she stormed the space, talking at a frantic, breakneck speed. She was recounting the drive, cursing the potholes in the Eastern Territories, and detailing a list of grievances against Antonio Armani, all while pulling Isis into a crushing embrace. Isis simply stood there, her face buried in her hands, her shoulders shaking with the kind of relief that only comes when the last piece of your old life finally clicks back into place.