Dusk had just fallen when Damian stood in front of Elena's apartment door. He raised his hand to knock, hesitated, lowered it, then finally braced himself and knocked twice.

Soon, the door opened. Elena stood on the threshold in a simple white T-shirt and beige trousers. Her hair was pulled into a loose bun; she wore no makeup. Yet the calm in her eyes radiated a strength that reminded Damian why he had ever loved her—and why he had betrayed a woman as beautiful as Elena.

"Elena..." His ...