Brett's POV

I found Riley in my study at midnight, curled up in the leather chair with a book. She'd fallen asleep reading, her auburn hair cascading over her shoulder like silk.

She looked peaceful. Vulnerable. Beautiful.

This was how she should always look – without the tension that constantly tightened her shoulders, without the wariness that shadowed her eyes whenever I entered a room. In sleep, she was simply Riley, not the woman I'd been systematically breaking down for weeks.

The ...