Silence settled between them—not the brittle kind that snapped with resentment, but the dense, humming sort that pressed against the skin, weighted with everything neither of them was quite brave enough to say out loud.
Rafael Vexley lay beside Eliana, one arm tucked beneath his head, the other hovering as if unsure whether to pull her closer or give her space. The bedside lamp cast a soft amber glow across the room, gilding the sharp lines of his face and softening them all at once. His steel-grey eyes studied her like she was a puzzle he both feared and needed to solve. The sheets were tangled around their legs, warm, intimate, carrying the mingled scent of her lavender shampoo and his familiar cologne—comforting, dangerous, addictive.
He didn't rush her. That alone said more than words ever could.
