I stared at the envelope, the faint scent of her perfume clinging stubbornly to my fingers. The paper was crisp, elegant—everything Elaine ever touched carried that illusion of refinement. I had learned long ago that elegance was often a mask for manipulation. But still, my pulse betrayed me.

I tore the envelope open, careful, methodical. My eyes skimmed the words, each line igniting something I had buried deep.

“Luther,”

Simple. Direct.

“It has been far too long since I felt your ...