And then, of course, her mind drifted back to him.
Those green eyes.
Those infuriatingly gorgeous moss-colored eyes that had been haunting her ever since the moment she saw him step out of that luxurious car like some kind of royalty dropped onto the street by mistake. Every time she thought about the sharp line of his jaw or the quiet intensity in his stare, her heart felt like it melted, stretched, then broke into sparkly confetti. She hugged her pillow like a teenager, kicking her feet in the air.
"What a man…" she whispered, breathless and giddy, replaying the memory in her mind. "Who even looks like that in real life? He must be a model. Or a prince. Or something exotic."
But every time her heartbeat fluttered, another thorn dug into her thoughts.
Why was he with Alina?
Celeste's smile faded immediately. She clicked her tongue in irritation, her manicured fingers tapping the edge of her phone.
Alina, of all people.
Alina who was impossible to find anywhere.
