Weston

The house wraps us in its comforting silence, the gentle hum of the fridge whispering a lullaby that seems to dance with the rhythm of our pounding hearts. As I turn to Melanie, I can't help but notice the way her presence charges the very air around us, a tension so palpable it sets my skin on fire. My gaze meets hers with a searing intensity, the kind of look that has haunted my dreams for the last eight years.

"I want you, West. I've dreamed about you. ...