I had barely slept, tossing and turning on the lumpy couch while replaying the fight with Damien on loop. The way his face had twisted when he saw Alex’s hand on my wrist. The coldness in his voice when he accused me of hiding things. Every memory stung like salt in an open wound.
Sofia was already up, humming off-key in the kitchen while making coffee. The smell of burnt toast and her signature strong brew pulled me off the couch. I shuffled in, still wearing the oversized t-shirt she’d lent me, my hair a mess and my eyes puffy.
“Morning, runaway bride,” she said cheerfully, sliding a mug toward me. “Or should I say, almost-bride-who-said-no-on-a-rooftop? Either way, you look like hell.”
I managed a weak laugh. “Thanks. Exactly what I needed to hear.”
She grinned, but her eyes were so
