Serafina

I woke up late.

And not the good kind of late — not the warm, satisfied, peace-in-your-chest kind. No. I woke up with my mouth dry, and the shrinking realization that he possibly never left.

I could feel him.

Dorian Everhart — oh, my bad, my husband — was somewhere in this apartment. Breathing my air. Walking on my floor. And definitely moving like he owned every inch of it.

And somehow, I still hadn’t figured out if he was the intruder in my life or if ...