Soren - POV

The VIP lounge reeked of expensive whiskey and bad decisions. I sat alone, nursing my glass, the burn of the alcohol doing little to dull my thoughts. Raisel had gone to Chicago, not Paris. Chicago—where Hazel used to work. It was like Raisel was chasing ghosts, running from me.

I wanted to stop her. I wanted to hold her back, to make her stay. But deep down, I knew she needed space. Maybe it was for the best—for her to breathe, to get away from me. Yet, I couldn’t shake the ...