“I want you to be my wife again, Vania.”

The words struck like lightning in broad daylight. Vania, who was making tea in the tiny kitchenette of Devandra’s apartment, froze mid-movement. Her hand trembled slightly around the cup, her breath caught in her throat.

She slowly turned around, eyes wide with disbelief.

“What did you just say?”

Devandra stood in the doorway of the kitchen. His posture was calm, but his gaze was unwavering.

“I want to fix everything. I want you ...