The room was drowned in silence, though what lingered was only the hollow echo of absence. Thor stood at the foot of the bed, where an open suitcase lay sprawled across the sheets—folded clothes, shoes carefully wrapped in bags, and a scattering of personal belongings abandoned like a wordless farewell, exposing the end of a story.

His eyes fell on one dress in particular, and his chest constricted.

It wasn’t just any dress.

It was the dress. The one Celina had worn the night fate, out of all possible variables, had decided to collide their lives in an improbable encounter at a random hotel—where everything began.

A night without names, without pasts, only the raw intensity of the present and an inexplicable connection.

Thor stepped closer as if standing before something sacred. He touched the fabric delicately, his fingers trailing along the stitching before lifting it to his face. His eyes shut the instant that familiar scent flooded his senses—her perfume, their memories, desire, a