Mikhail leaned against the sleek black car he’d driven to the secluded spot where Annabelle had agreed to meet him.

The late afternoon sun cast a golden hue over the small clearing, its light filtering through the trees and playing across the hood of the car.

He rubbed the back of his neck, nerves he didn’t often feel gnawing at him.

Today wasn’t just about seeing her; it was about finally saying what he’d buried for far too long. 

When Annabelle arrived, she wore a simple floral dress that swayed gently in the breeze, her hair loose around her shoulders.

She looked effortlessly beautiful, the kind of beauty that didn’t...