She was beautiful. Elegant. The kind of woman people stared at when she walked into a room. She carried herself confidently and acted comfortable inside my home.
Maybe we really had been together.
Maybe we had planned a future together before the accident.
Still, every time I looked at Rachel, my chest reacted in a completely different way.
A strange painful pull I could not explain.
Camilla sat beside me on the bed. “Do you need anything?”
Before I answered, my mother entered carrying a tray herself even though the penthouse had staff everywhere.
“You need to eat,” she said firmly.
She placed the tray on the bedside table.
Fresh soup, grilled fish, fruit, and tea sat neatly arranged on expensive porcelain dishes.
Camilla immediately picked up the spoon.
“I’ll feed him.”
My mot
