Veeraj woke first, the soft golden light of dawn spilling through the small window. He didn’t move immediately, choosing instead to watch her. Vanya lay curled against him, her breathing slow and even, a peaceful contrast to the storm of the night before. Her hair fanned across the pillow, damp strands clinging to her cheek, and he couldn’t help the small smile that tugged at his lips.

Every curve, every soft line of her body pressed against him, bore the memory of their closeness. The faint marks he’d left—traces of his obsession, his hunger, his desire—made her uniquely hers. To anyone else, they might have seemed like imperfections, but to him, they were proof of how much he wanted her, how much she had trusted him.