AARÓN CONNOR.

ITALY.

꘎♡━━━━━━━♡꘎*

My eyes glance at the piece of cloth tied around my leg. It’s unnecessary—I heal fast—but these little gestures are typical of her. I let it go because I’d rather this than never have her by my side again.

She runs toward me, soaked in water, trembling like jelly, droplets glistening on her skin under the moonlight.

“Come with me,” she whispers, her teeth chattering. “Aaron, you have to believe me. I didn’t do it.” Her voice cracks with tears, and her hands shake from both fear and cold. That doesn’t make me feel any better.

Just imagining her near another man stirs something dark inside me again. But still, I believe her—even if that feeling gnaws at me. Luca knew exactly what he was doing, hitting me where I’m weakest. Her footsteps are weak on the wet sand, each one marked by the tremors running through her body.

I can smell her fear, her sadness, the salty trace of tears she tries to hold back. The ocean wind wraps around us, heavy, loaded with