I froze, my breath locking in my chest.

Little bunny.

That stupid nickname. The one I swore I hated, the one that had been echoing in my head all week even when I tried to forget.

My eyes widened as the second part sank in. On the house.

My head snapped up, and I stared at the champagne like it had turned into a bomb.

It wasn’t just any champagne. It wasn’t just any note.

This was his.

Emiliano Russo’s.

The realization hit me like ice water, sending a shiver down my spine even in the hot, ...