CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

Marco’s POV

The sun had dipped behind the skyline, casting the city in a gold-tinged gloom as I watched from the driver’s seat of the black Aston Martin. The hum of the engine had gone cold. I hadn’t moved in nearly twenty minutes. Not since she walked out of that glass building—Luxe Visions—like she was carrying a thousand invisible bricks on her back.

Mia Cruz.

The woman who made me question every rule I’d lived by, every line I’d drawn to keep people out.

Her shoulders were tense beneath the tailored beige coat she wore, the collar flipped up like armor against the late evening chill. Her steps weren’t rushed, but they weren’t steady either. Each one looked like she had to convince herself to take it. I watched as she paused at the corner, her head tilting toward the sky for just a second like she needed to remind herself how to breathe.

She didn’t see me.