In the master suite, the atmosphere was entirely different. There was no playfulness here, only a deep, aching protectiveness.

Hayden said nothing as he gently carried Myla into their room.

Her arms were loosely wrapped around his neck, her cheek pressed against his shoulder, her body warm but oddly limp, as if she had expended every last ounce of willpower holding herself together and had finally let go.

She had spent days constantly watching, learning, and trying to mimic the late Annabel ...