They say your first heartbreak changes you.
Mine wore a suit, smelled like danger, and kissed me like I was the only thing that had ever mattered.
Then he vanished.
No calls. No texts. No reason.
Just gone.
One day, he was whispering my name like a promise. The next, he was a ghost.
I tried to forget him. God knows I tried.
But I couldn't forget the way his hands trembled when they held me, like I was fragile. I couldn't forget the way he looked at me, like he saw the broken parts I tried to hide and loved me anyway.
I couldn't forget the kiss.
The kiss that broke me.
And now, after months of silence, after I've pieced myself together, he's back.
In the rain. Outside my door. Eyes darker than I remembered.
Saying things that make my chest ache.
Telling me I'm still his.
But this time, it's not just my heart at stake.
Because he's not just the man who left.
He is saying that we are being hunted.
And whether I want to or not, I'm already in too deep.