The next morning. Early November. The Nest.
The morning light was gray and thin — a hesitant sun veiled by a sky heavy with unshed rain. The city beyond the hills still slept, the air smelling faintly of woodsmoke and damp earth.
Serena sat at the edge of the bed, her hands folded in her lap, her reflection a pale shimmer in the mirror across the room.
She had not slept.
Every time she closed her eyes, she saw Christopher's face — the look in his eyes when she said let me go.
Not anger. Not even surprise.
It was something more dangerous: the quiet disbelief of a man who had never been denied before.
Her chest ached.
She pressed her fingers to her temples, willing herself to be calm. He'll relent, she told herself. He always does. He just wants control, not destruction.
But even as she thought it, her stomach twisted with doubt.
