Kane’s POV

I wake up to silence.

The bed is empty. Cool sheets smell faintly of Scarlett—her perfume lingering like a whisper, a memory I want to hold but can’t. My chest tightens. My hands flex on the sheets, curling into fists, frustration and longing coiling inside me like a spring ready to snap.

She’s gone.

The night after—everything we did—it’s still raw, pulsing, vibrating under my skin. I replay every touch, every sigh, every moment her body melted against mine. Her ...