Michael's POV
The scent of brewing coffee should have been comforting, but instead it became the backdrop for the most devastating moment of my life.
She was there.
Allyson.
Standing in my kitchen like she owned the place.
My mind reeled, trying to process what I was seeing. For a heartbeat, I wondered if exhaustion had finally driven me to madness. But when her eyes locked with mine, wide with pure terror, and the ceramic mug tumbled from her fingers to explode against the tile floor, reality crashed over me like a tidal wave.
This was no hallucination. This was hell incarnate.
She stood there in bare feet, drowning in an oversized shirt and loose shorts, her dark hair twisted into a careless knot. Everything about her screamed domestic familiarity, as if she belonged in this space that was supposed to be my sanctuary.
My private refuge. My escape from the world.
What in God's name was she doing here?
