The cafe lights flickered once, twice, and then died behind them, plunging the corner table into darkness. The barista called out something about the breaker, but Lily barely heard it—Rohan was already standing, his hand extended toward her, and the rain was coming down in sheets beyond the window.

"Come on," he said, and his voice had that edge to it, the one she remembered from nights when he couldn't wait another second to get her alone. "Before it gets worse."

She took his hand. His fingers closed around hers, warm despite the chill in the air, and he led her through the dim cafe, past the startled glances of the few remaining patrons, out into the storm.

The rain hit her like a wall. Cold and sudden and absolute, soaking through her cream silk blouse in seconds, plastering the fabric to her skin. She gasped, ducking her head, but Rohan didn't slow—he pulled her along the wet pavement, around the corner of the building, into the narrow alley beside the cafe.

The awning above them shed a curtain of water, and the brick wall pressed cold against her back as he turned to face her. His hands came up, cupping her face, his palms wet and warm against her chilled cheeks. Rain streamed down his jaw, dripped from his black hair, and his dark eyes were fierce in the dim light.

"One night," he said, and his voice was rough, scraped raw. "Just one night before you belong to him."

The words hung between them, heavy with everything they'd said at the table—the two years of silence, the shock of his return, the CEO reveal that had made her feel like she was meeting a stranger wearing the face of the boy she'd loved. And then the wedding. The wedding he hadn't known about, hadn't even imagined, and the way his whole body had gone still when she'd told him.

She didn't answer him. She just rose on her toes and kissed him.

The pendant at her throat pressed cold between them, the gold heart he'd given her years ago, the one she'd never taken off. He made a sound against her mouth—something broken and hungry—and his hands slid from her face to her waist, gripping the wet silk of her blouse, bunching the fabric in his fists.

She could taste the rain on his lips, and something else, something that tasted like two years of wanting and the terror of losing each other again. Her fingers found the back of his neck, dug into his wet hair, and she pulled him closer, as if she could memorize the shape of his mouth against hers.

He broke the kiss just long enough to breathe her name. "Lily."

His forehead pressed to hers, rain streaming down both their faces, and she could feel his heart hammering through his soaked shirt, or maybe that was her own. The brick scraped her shoulder blades through the wet silk, and she didn't care. The cold didn't matter. Nothing mattered except the way he was looking at her, like she was the only thing in the world that made sense.

"Tomorrow," she whispered, and the word tasted like ash. "Tomorrow I—"

"Don't." His thumb found her lower lip, pressed against it, silencing her. "Don't talk about tomorrow. Not tonight. Not yet."

She nodded, and his hand slid from her lip to her jaw, tilting her face up. The rain had plastered her chestnut hair to her scalp, and she knew she must look wrecked, drowned, a mess of wet silk and trembling hands. But the way he looked at her, the way his dark eyes moved over her face like he was memorizing every line—she felt beautiful. She felt seen.

"I thought about you every day," he said, and his voice cracked on the last word. "Every single day, Lily. I told myself I was doing it for you, building something so I could come back and be worthy of you. And then I come back, and you're—" He stopped, jaw tight, rain dripping from his chin. "You're marrying someone else."

"I didn't have a choice." The words came out smaller than she meant them to, thinner. "Papa's company—"

"I know." He said it gently, but there was something underneath it, something hard. "I know about the debt. I know about the contract. I looked into it the moment you told me."

She blinked, rain stinging her eyes. "You—"

"I have resources now, Lily. I can find out anything I want to know." His thumb traced her cheekbone, wiping away a drop of rain that wasn't rain. "I know what he's doing to you. What they're all doing to you. Trading you like you're a line item on a balance sheet."

A sob caught in her throat, and she hated it, hated how easily he could break through the careful composure she'd built over two years of quiet obedience. "It's not that simple."

"It never is." He said it like he understood, like he'd spent two years learning exactly how complicated the world could be. "But it doesn't change what I want. What I've always wanted."

His hand slid from her jaw to her throat, fingers finding the gold chain, the pendant that lay against her collarbone. He lifted it, the heart swinging gently between them, catching what little light filtered through the rain.

"You kept it," he said, and there was wonder in his voice, raw and unguarded.

"I never took it off." Her voice was barely audible over the rain. "Not once. Not even when I thought I'd never see you again."

Something shifted in his face—something fierce and possessive and so tender it hurt to look at. He pressed the pendant to his lips, a kiss that felt like a vow, and then he let it fall back against her chest, warm from his mouth.

"I meant what I said at the table," he told her. "Every word. I'll wait two years. I'll wait ten. I'll wait forever if that's what it takes. But I need to know—" He stopped, swallowed. "I need to know that you'll still be mine when it's over."

"I promised."

"I know you did. But promises are easy to make in the warm light of a cafe." His eyes held hers, dark and searching. "It's harder to keep them when you're standing in the rain, the night before your wedding, with a man who wants you more than he's ever wanted anything."

She reached up, her fingers finding his jaw, the stubble rough against her palm. "Then don't make it hard."

He laughed, a broken sound that was half sob. "Lily—"

"I love you." She said it simply, quietly, the words she'd been holding for two years finally released into the space between them. "I've loved you since we were nineteen and you stole my coffee because you said I looked like I needed it more than you did. I've loved you through every silent month, every unanswered call, every night I lay awake wondering if you were dead or just gone. And I'm going to marry Aarav Kapoor tomorrow because my father's company will collapse if I don't, and I can't watch him lose everything he's built. But that doesn't change the fact that I love you. It never has. It never will."

His hands tightened on her waist, the wet silk twisting in his fists. "Lily." Her name was a prayer, a plea, a promise. "I can fix this. I can—"

"No." She pressed her fingers to his lips, silencing him the way he'd silenced her. "You can't. And I don't want you to try. I just want—" She stopped, the words catching. "I just want tonight. I want one night where I'm not the obedient daughter, not the contract bride, not the sacrifice. I want one night where I'm just Lily. Your Lily."

His breath came out shaky, and she felt it against her fingers, warm and alive. "You were always my Lily."

"Then show me."

The words hung between them, daring him. His eyes darkened, and she saw the battle in them—the part of him that wanted to be noble, to let her go, to do the right thing. And the part of him that had spent two years starving for her, that would burn the world down to keep her. The second part won.

His mouth found hers again, harder this time, more desperate. His hands slid from her waist to the small of her back, pulling her flush against him, and she gasped into his mouth at the sudden heat of him against her cold, rain-soaked body. The brick scraped her shoulder blades, the pendant pressed cold between them, and she didn't care. She rose on her toes, wrapped her arms around his neck, and kissed him back like it was the last thing she'd ever do.

The alley swallowed them both, the rain a curtain around them, hiding them from the world. His hands moved over her body, mapping her through the wet silk, and she shuddered against him, every nerve ending alive for the first time in two years.

"Lily." He breathed her name against her mouth, and she felt it in her chest, in her stomach, in the ache between her thighs. "I need you. I need—"

"Then take it." She pulled back just enough to meet his eyes, rain streaming down her face, her chest heaving. "Take everything. I'm yours. I've always been yours."

Something broke in his face, something he'd been holding together for two years. His hands came up to cup her face again, and she saw it then—the tremor in his fingers, the slight shake that betrayed the CEO composure from the cafe table. He was terrified. Terrified of losing her, terrified of this moment, terrified of the two years that stretched ahead of them like a sentence.

"I love you," he said, and the words were raw, scraped out of him. "I love you so much it scares me."

She kissed him again, softer this time, pouring everything she couldn't say into the press of her lips against his. His hands slid into her wet hair, gripping, holding, and she felt the cold brick at her back, the heat of his body against her front, the pendant between them like a heartbeat.

When he finally pulled back, his chest was heaving, his lips swollen, his eyes dark with want. "Come with me," he said. "Come to my apartment. Just for tonight. Just—"

"Yes."

He blinked, like he hadn't expected her to agree so quickly. "Lily—"

"I said yes." She reached for his hand, laced her fingers through his. "Take me home, Rohan."

The word hung between them—home—and she saw something flicker in his eyes. Something that looked like hope.

He pulled her out of the alley, back into the rain, and they ran. The streetlights blurred past, the city a smear of water and light, and her hand stayed locked in his the whole way. His car was parked three blocks away, a sleek black thing that gleamed in the rain, and he had her in the passenger seat before she could catch her breath, the heat blasting, the windows fogging.

He slid into the driver's seat, water dripping from his hair, his white shirt plastered to his chest, and he looked at her for a long moment. The engine hummed. The rain drummed on the roof.

"Last chance," he said, and his voice was rough. "You can still walk away. I'll take you home, and we'll pretend this never happened, and tomorrow you'll marry him, and—"

"I don't want to walk away." She reached across the console, her hand finding his thigh, feeling the muscle tense under her palm. "I want to go home with you. I want one night where I get to be yours. Please, Rohan. Don't make me beg."

His jaw tightened. "You have no idea what you do to me."

"Then show me."

He put the car in gear and pulled into the street, and the city slid past them in a blur of rain and neon. Lily leaned her head against the window, watching his profile in the dashboard light—the sharp jaw, the dark eyes fixed on the road, the scar on his right knuckle where his hand gripped the wheel. Two years. Two years she'd spent wondering if she'd ever see him again, and here he was, driving her through the storm like he'd never left.

The penthouse was at the top of a glass tower that pierced the night sky, and the elevator ride felt like an eternity. They stood on opposite sides of the car, rain still dripping from their clothes, and she could feel the charge between them, electric and unbearable. He didn't touch her. He didn't speak. He just watched her with those dark, hungry eyes, and she felt herself trembling under the weight of his gaze.

The doors opened onto a hallway of marble and soft light, and he led her to a door at the end, his key turning in the lock. The apartment opened up before her—floor-to-ceiling windows showing the city sprawled below, rain streaking down the glass, a vast living room with furniture that looked expensive and untouched. A home that had never been lived in, she realized. A place where he'd slept and worked, but never truly existed.

He closed the door behind them, and the click of the lock was the loudest sound she'd ever heard.

They stood in the entryway, water pooling at their feet, and neither of them moved. The rain hammered against the windows. The city glittered beyond the glass. And Rohan looked at her like she was the only thing in the world that was real.

"You're shaking," he said.

"I'm cold."

He crossed the distance between them, his hands finding her shoulders, running down her arms. "Let me warm you up."

His fingers found the buttons of her blouse, and he undid them one by one, slowly, deliberately, his eyes never leaving hers. The wet silk fell away, and she stood before him in her soaked bra, her skin goosebumped and pale in the dim light. He made a sound low in his throat, something between a growl and a prayer.

"You're so beautiful," he said, and his voice was reverent. "You've always been so beautiful, Lily."

His hands came up, cupping her breasts through the wet lace, and she gasped at the heat of his palms against her cold skin. He thumbed her nipples through the fabric, watching her face as she bit her lip, as her eyes fluttered closed.

"Look at me," he said, and she did. "I want to see your eyes when I touch you."

She nodded, and his hands slid behind her, unhooking her bra, letting it fall to the floor. The air hit her skin, and she shivered, but his mouth was already there, hot on her collarbone, trailing down to her breast. He took her nipple in his mouth, and she cried out, her fingers digging into his wet hair.

"Rohan—"

He pulled back just enough to look at her, his lips swollen, his eyes dark. "Say my name again."

"Rohan."

His hand slid down her stomach, over the waistband of her soaked trousers, and she felt his fingers find the button, the zipper. "I've dreamed about this," he murmured against her skin. "Two years, Lily. Two years I've dreamed about the sound of you saying my name like that."

He pushed her trousers down, and she stepped out of them, left in nothing but her soaked underwear. He knelt before her, his hands on her hips, his mouth pressing kisses to her stomach, her hipbones, the inside of her thigh. She trembled, her fingers in his hair, and when his mouth found her through the wet fabric, she cried out.

"Rohan, please—"

"Please what?" His voice was rough, muffled against her. "Tell me what you want."

"I want you to touch me. I want—" She stopped, a sob catching in her throat. "I want to feel something. I want to feel anything."

He looked up at her, and something in his face softened. He hooked his fingers in the waistband of her underwear and drew them down her legs, slow and deliberate, and then his mouth was on her, bare and hot and devastating. She cried out, her hips bucking, and he held her steady, his hands gripping her thighs, his tongue finding her clit and circling it with a precision that made her see stars.

It had been so long. So long since she'd felt anything like this, since she'd let herself want anything at all. His tongue worked her, flicking and sucking, and she felt the orgasm building, coiling low in her belly, threatening to break.

"Rohan—" His name came out strangled, desperate. "I'm going to—"

"Then come for me." He looked up at her, his mouth glistening. "Come on my tongue, Lily. Let me taste you."

She shattered. Her knees buckled, and he caught her, holding her up as she came against his mouth, her cries swallowed by the rain hammering against the windows. He didn't stop until she was limp in his arms, trembling, gasping, and then he rose, his mouth finding hers, and she tasted herself on his lips.

"I need you inside me," she whispered, and the words felt like surrender. "Please, Rohan. I need to feel you."

He carried her to the bedroom, laid her on the vast bed, and stripped out of his wet clothes. She watched him, the lean lines of his body, the scar on his knuckle, the way his cock stood hard and aching between his legs. He was beautiful, and he was hers, and for one night, that was enough.

He came over her, his body covering hers, and she felt the heat of him, the weight of him, the way his cock pressed against her thigh, slick with her arousal. He kissed her, slow and deep, and then he reached between them, guiding himself to her entrance.

"Look at me," he said, and she did. "I want to see your eyes when I'm inside you."

He pushed in, slow, inch by inch, and she gasped at the stretch, the fullness, the way he filled her so completely. He paused when he was fully seated, his forehead pressed to hers, both of them breathing hard.

"You feel like home," he whispered, and she felt tears prick her eyes.

He began to move, slow and deep, and she wrapped her legs around him, pulling him closer. The rain hammered against the windows. The city glittered beyond the glass. And Rohan made love to her like he was trying to memorize her, every thrust a word, every kiss a sentence, telling her everything he couldn't say aloud.

She came again, crying out his name, and he followed her, his hips stuttering as he spilled inside her, hot and deep. He collapsed against her, his face buried in her neck, and she felt his heart hammering against her chest, or maybe it was her own.

"I love you," he said, muffled against her skin. "I love you so much."

She held him, her fingers in his hair, the pendant at her throat warm between them. Tomorrow she would marry another man. Tomorrow she would become someone else's. But tonight, in the rain-soaked dark of his penthouse, she was his. She had always been his.

And in the quiet aftermath, as his breathing slowed and the rain softened to a whisper, she made herself a promise—not the one she'd made at the table, but a new one, a secret one.

She would survive the two years. She would honor the contract. She would pay her father's debt.

But when it was over, she would come back to this man, to this bed, to this feeling of being truly, completely alive.

And she would never let him go again.

Her phone buzzed on the nightstand. Once, twice, a third time before she registered the sound through the haze of his slow, deliberate rhythm. Rohan had her on her hands and knees, his chest pressed to her back, one arm banded across her stomach holding her in place while his hips worked her in long, dragging strokes that made her see white at the edges of her vision.

"Ignore it," he breathed against her ear, and the command sent a shiver down her spine. His hand slid up her body, fingers grazing her ribs, her collarbone, settling at her throat—not squeezing, just resting there, a reminder of who was inside her, who was filling her so completely she couldn't form a coherent thought.

The phone buzzed again. And again. The screen lit up the dark bedroom, and through the blur of her own desire, she saw the name.

Aarav.

Her whole body went rigid. Rohan felt it—felt her clench around him, felt the sudden tension in her spine—and he stilled, buried deep inside her. The silence stretched, thick and dangerous, broken only by the rain against the glass and the relentless buzzing of her phone on the nightstand.

"Don't answer it." His voice was low, rough, his thumb tracing the line of her jaw. "Lily. Don't."

But the phone kept ringing, and the name on the screen was a cold splash of reality against the heat of his body inside hers. Tomorrow. Tomorrow she married that name. Tomorrow she belonged to it. And if she didn't answer, if she let it go to voicemail, there would be questions. There were always questions with Aarav—polite ones, probing ones, delivered with that plastic smile that never reached his cold grey eyes.

"I have to." The words came out strangled, half moan, half plea. "He'll—if I don't answer, he'll wonder—"

"Let him wonder." Rohan's hips shifted, a slow, grinding rotation that made her gasp and grip the sheets. "Let him wonder where you are. Who you're with. What you're doing right now."

Another buzz. The screen glowed, insistent. Aarav's name was a brand in the dark.

"Please." She didn't know if she was begging him to let her answer or begging him to keep going, to fuck her so hard she forgot the phone existed. "Rohan, I have to—he'll call my father—"

He pulled out, and the sudden emptiness made her whimper, a broken sound she'd be embarrassed about later. But before she could collapse onto the mattress, his hand was on her back, pressing her down, and his voice was in her ear, low and dark.

"Answer it." His fingers traced the curve of her ass, dipped between her thighs, found her slick and swollen. "But you'll do it exactly like I say. Understand?"

She nodded, breathless, her heart hammering against her ribs. He reached for the phone, his arm brushing her side, and pressed it into her hand. The screen was bright, almost blinding. Aarav's name pulsed at her like a warning.

"Answer it," Rohan said again, and there was something in his voice she'd never heard before—something possessive and dangerous. "And put it on speaker."

Her thumb trembled over the screen. She swiped to accept, hit speaker, and raised the phone slightly, her voice already shaking.

"H-hello?"

"Lily." Aarav's voice filled the room, smooth and polished, the voice of a man who'd never been denied anything in his life. "I've been trying to reach you. You weren't at the house when I stopped by. Your father said you'd gone out."

Behind her, Rohan's hands found her hips, and she felt him position himself at her entrance, the head of his cock pressing against her, slick with her arousal. She bit her lip, hard, tasting blood.

"I—yes, I went out. I needed some air. The rain—" Her voice cracked as Rohan pushed in, slow, inch by inch, stretching her, filling her. She clenched around him, her eyes squeezing shut. "The rain was—I just wanted to—"

"You sound out of breath." Aarav's voice was mildly curious, the tone of a man filing away information for later. "Are you alright?"

Rohan's hand came around her, palm pressing over her mouth, muffling the moan that threatened to escape. He began to move, slow and deep, each thrust sending shockwaves through her body. She gripped the phone so hard the plastic creaked.

"I'm—" She had to pause, had to swallow the sound building in her throat. "I'm fine. Just—the rain, I ran, I got caught in it—"

"You should be more careful." Aarav's voice was clipped, almost dismissive. "The wedding is tomorrow. You can't afford to be sick."

"I know." The words came out thin, reedy. Rohan's thrusts were getting deeper, harder, and she had to press her hand harder against her own mouth to keep quiet. "I know, I'll be—I'll be careful."

"Good. I'll see you at the altar tomorrow, Lily. Don't be late."

The line went dead.

The phone slipped from her fingers, clattering onto the sheets, and the sound that had been building in her throat finally escaped—a strangled, desperate moan that Rohan swallowed with his mouth as he pulled her up against his chest, his arm banded across her stomach, his cock buried to the hilt inside her.

"Good girl," he breathed against her lips, and the words sent a bolt of heat straight through her. "So good. You have no idea what that did to me."

He moved, and she felt it everywhere—the slow drag of him inside her, the way he filled her so completely she couldn't remember what it felt like to be empty. His hand slid from her mouth down her throat, over her breast, his fingers finding her nipple and rolling it between them until she was gasping, arching back against him.

"Rohan—" His name was a plea, a prayer, a promise she couldn't keep.

"I know." His voice was rough in her ear. "I know, baby. I've got you."

He laid her back down, pressing her chest to the mattress, and she felt the weight of him settle over her, his hips finding a rhythm that made her see stars. The phone lay forgotten beside her, the screen dark, Aarav's voice still echoing in her ears, and the wrongness of it—the sheer, dizzying wrongness of being filled by one man while promising herself to another—made her clench around him, made her cry out into the pillow.

"That's it," he groaned, his hand sliding under her, finding her clit, circling it with his thumb. "Come for me, Lily. Come on my cock while your fiancé's name is still on your phone."

The words shattered her. She came with a scream swallowed by the pillow, her body convulsing around him, and he followed her, his hips stuttering as he spilled inside her, hot and deep, his groan muffled against her shoulder.

They lay there, tangled and breathless, the rain a soft whisper against the windows. His weight was warm on her back, his cock still inside her, softening, and she felt tears prick her eyes—not from sadness, but from the sheer overwhelming impossibility of it all.

"I meant it," she whispered, her voice raw. "Every word. I love you. I'll always love you."

He pressed a kiss to her shoulder, her neck, her jaw. "I know. And I'll wait. Two years, ten, forever. I'll wait for you, Lily."

She turned her head, meeting his eyes in the dim light. "And I'll come back. I promise. I'll come back to you."

He smiled, a soft, broken thing, and kissed her forehead. "I know you will."

The rain fell. The city glittered beyond the glass. And in the warm dark of his penthouse, with his body still tangled with hers, Lily let herself believe that promises could survive even the longest night.

The phone lay face-down on the sheets, its dark screen a small monument to the lie she'd just told. Lily stared at it over Rohan's shoulder, at the way the rain-light caught the edge of the glass, and felt the weight of Aarav's voice still pressing on her eardrums. *I'll see you at the altar tomorrow, Lily. Don't be late.* The words were already hardening inside her, becoming a fact she'd have to live inside, and she pressed her forehead into the pillow as if she could push them out.

Rohan's hand found her hip, a slow stroke down the curve of her waist, and she felt him shift behind her, the soft drag of his skin against hers. He didn't speak. He just traced the line of her spine with his fingertips, over and over, a patient rhythm that had nothing to do with sex and everything to do with the thing he was trying to say without words. She turned her face to the side, one cheek against the damp sheet, and watched his hand move across her back in the dim light.

"He said he stopped by the house," she whispered. The words came out flat, the way she'd learned to make them when her father was in the room. "He was looking for me. He wanted to—I don't know. Check on me. Make sure I was still going to show up."

Rohan's hand stilled at the small of her back. "And you told him you were out getting air."

"I told him I got caught in the rain." She laughed, a hollow sound that died in her throat. "Which is true, technically. I just didn't mention the part where I ended up here."

He was quiet for a long moment, his thumb pressing a small circle at the base of her spine. Then he said, "You don't have to do this, Lily."

She closed her eyes. The words were the same ones he'd said at the cafe, the same ones he'd whispered against her skin when the rain first started falling, and they were no easier to hear now than they'd been then. "You know I do."

"I know you think you do." His voice was careful, measured, the voice of a man who'd learned to build arguments for a living. "But there's a difference between a debt and a sentence. Your father's company—"

"Is everything my family has." She opened her eyes, staring at the dark window where the city glittered beyond the glass. "If it falls, my father falls. My mother. My brother's education. The house I grew up in." She swallowed. "Aarav's money is the only thing holding it together. And the only way to get that money is to become his wife."

"For two years."

"For two years." She said it like she was testing the shape of it, the way she'd tested it a hundred times since her father first sat her down and explained the arrangement. "And then it's over. And I come back to you."

Rohan's hand slid up her back, over her shoulder, and she felt him lean down, his lips brushing the curve of her ear. "And what if I don't want to wait two years?"

The question hung in the air, heavier than the rain, heavier than the phone lying dark on the sheets. She turned her head, meeting his eyes in the dim light, and saw something there she hadn't seen before—not the desperate longing of the cafe, not the possessive heat of the last hour, but something quieter, harder, more dangerous. A plan. A calculation. The mind of a man who'd spent two years building an empire and wasn't used to being told no.

"Rohan." She said his name carefully, the way you'd approach a wire that might be live. "What are you saying?"

He didn't answer right away. His thumb traced her jaw, a slow, deliberate stroke, and she felt the weight of his silence pressing against her chest. Then he said, "I'm saying I've spent two years making myself into someone who could give you anything. And now you're telling me the one thing I can't give you is time."

"It's not about what you can give me." She reached up, her fingers finding his hand where it rested on her shoulder, and she held it there, her grip tight. "It's about what I owe. What my family owes. I can't walk away from that."

"Even if it means marrying a man you don't love?"

"Especially then." She felt the tears prick her eyes again, hot and sudden, and she blinked them back. "Because if I'm going to do this, if I'm going to give two years of my life to a man I don't love, it has to mean something. It has to save them. Otherwise—"

"Otherwise you'd just be throwing yourself away for nothing."

She nodded, a small, broken motion. "Yes."

Rohan was quiet for a long moment. Then he pulled her closer, his arm banded across her stomach, his chest warm against her back, and he pressed a kiss to the curve of her neck. "Then I'll wait," he said, his voice rough against her skin. "I told you that. Two years, ten, forever. I meant it."

"I know you did." She turned in his arms, facing him, her hands coming up to frame his face. The scar on his right knuckle caught the light, a pale line against his skin, and she traced it with her thumb, the way she'd done a hundred times when they were younger, before everything fell apart. "And I meant what I said too. I'll come back to you. I promise."

He caught her wrist, his lips brushing her palm. "I know you will."

She kissed him then, slow and soft, the kind of kiss that wasn't about heat or hunger but about memory, about all the years they'd already lost and all the ones they were about to spend apart. His hand slid into her hair, cupping the back of her head, and he kissed her back with a tenderness that made her chest ache. When they finally broke apart, the rain had softened to a whisper against the glass, and the city beyond the window had grown quiet.

"Tomorrow," she said, and the word felt like a door closing. "Tomorrow I become his wife."

"Not his," Rohan said, his thumb stroking her cheek. "Not really. You'll wear his ring, you'll share his name, but you'll never be his. Not the way you're mine."

She should have argued. She should have reminded him that she was about to promise herself to another man, that every word he said was a lie they were both telling themselves to get through the night. But she didn't. She just let herself believe it, the way she'd let herself believe that promises could survive even the longest night, and she pressed her forehead to his and breathed him in.

"I'm yours," she whispered. "I've always been yours."