ANNABETH SAINT
The door clicked shut behind Devon, and the silence that followed was deafening.
I sat there, my fingers still tingling from his touch. If I marry you, it's forever. The words echoed in my mind. Foreverr. That was a promise I wanted him to keep.
I exhaled, slow and shaky, pressing my palms flat against the bed to steady myself.
Forever.
I had just asked Devon Thorne to marry me. And he'd said yes.
A laugh bubbled up in my throat—half disbelief, half exhilaration.
I stood, pacing the length of the room, my bare feet sinking into the plush carpet. The penthouse was too quiet, too still. Devon had left in a rush, his body coiled tight with tension. A situation, he'd called it.
I stopped at the floor-to-ceiling window, pressing my fingertips against the cool glass. The city sprawled below, glittering under the night sky.
My phone buzzed in my pocket.
