In the dream, I laughed too—light, unburdened, free in a way I hadn’t felt in years. He leaned down and pressed a kiss to my forehead, warm and certain. His eyes held promises he never broke.
When we get back down, let’s get married, he had said once, half-joking. But I knew he meant every word.
Then the world shifted.
His footing slipped. The ground gave way. Adrian fell, his hand reaching for mine, his voice torn away by the rushing wind.
I screamed his name, over and over, until my throat burned raw.
“Adrian! Adrian!”
My own cry yanked me out of the dream.
I shot upright, chest heaving, tears pouring down my face.
But it wasn’t Adrian sitting beside me.
It was Dominic.
He sat in the chair near my bed, arms crossed, his expression dark and mocking.
“So that’s how it is,” he sneered. “Even now, you’re still crying for him.” His lips twisted cruelly. “You shout his name like a grieving widow. I’m sitting right here, Seraphina, yet it’s always Adrian.”
My heart lurched painfully. I wiped at my tears, shaking my head. “Dominic, I didn’t—”