Elena’s POV**

I joined the gym because I wanted to feel stronger by the end of summer.

The place was small but expensive-looking—black rubber floors, mirrored walls, rows of gleaming machines that smelled faintly of metal and disinfectant. I’d signed up online, paid the fee, showed up in leggings and a cropped tank, ready to sweat out whatever leftover freshman-year stress was still clinging to me.

Marcus was behind the desk when I walked in.

He was taller than he looked on the website photos—broad shoulders, arms thick from years of lifting, dark hair cropped short, a faint scar running along his left eyebrow. Forty-three, divorced, owner and head trainer....