Ethan didn’t move at first.

Alyssa stood in the middle of the penthouse living room, her shoulders rigid, her hands clenched so tightly her knuckles had gone white. The city lights outside the floor-to-ceiling windows blurred into streaks of gold and white, but she didn’t see them. Her breath came in shallow pulls, sharp and uneven, like she was afraid that if she inhaled too deeply, something inside her would shatter beyond repair.

“Don’t,” she said hoarsely, when she felt Ethan take a step closer behind her. “Don’t touch me.”

Ethan stopped—but only for a second.

“I’m not leaving,” he replied quietly. His voice was steady, but there was something...