The Heiress and the Four Brothers
My body isn’t perfect—but she looked at it like I was something holy.
Her gaze traveled from my shoulders, down my chest, pausing on my left side. There, the tattoo stretched—a massive tree, with roots thick and winding, etched with painful detail.
She touched it gently, like it might break. Her fingers were rain-soft, but her touch struck like lightning. “What does it mean?” she whispered.
I closed my eyes. “The tree … it’s roots. Home. Family. Everything I’ve buried but never had.”
Her fingers traced a line down my ribs, following the roots, lower. Toward my navel. Lower. My heart screamed. My breath hitched.
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