The city was quieter on the drive back from Willow's than it had any right to be.
Rooftops blurred into streaks of neon and shadow, reflections slicing across the windshield like memories that refused to stay buried.
The hum of the engine filled the silence between them — the kind of silence that didn't soothe but vibrated under the skin.
Zane kept his eyes on the road, hands steady on the wheel, jaw locked tight.
The ghost of her kiss still burned against his mouth, a brand he couldn't will away.
When he pulled into his driveway, the Maserati purred down to a low, steady hush — the only sound left in a world that had gone utterly still.
He killed the engine but didn't move.
The house loomed before him, all glass and steel — immaculate, sterile, safe.
And yet, the longer he sat there, the less safe he felt.
Control — the thing he'd clung to all night — loosened just enough to let the truth bleed through.
That kiss hadn't been part of her plan alone.
