The exhibition hall was quiet the next morning, filled only with the soft hum of lights and the echo of footsteps. Amara walked through the space with a clipboard in hand, checking each frame, adjusting each spotlight, making sure nothing — absolutely nothing — was out of place.

Today mattered. Tonight the press would come for the private preview, and she needed everything perfect.

She could control the art. She could control the lighting. But what she couldn’t control was the rising tension in her chest after yesterday’s unexpected encounter.

Seeing Ethan again had awakened something she didn’t want to name. Not love. Not longing. Just… memory. A memory she...