Eve

I stood frozen in the doorway, rain still dripping from my coat onto the mat, the cold seeping into my bones. But it wasn’t the weather chilling me.

It was him.

Sage, standing in the sitting room archway, shirt stretched across his chest, hair damp like he’d recently showered. And in his arms—Margo. Limp, head nestled against his shoulder, arms loose around his neck like she belonged there. Like some damsel he’d just rescued.

My stomach twisted so hard I almost doubled over.

“You’re late,” he said, voice calm, breaking the thick silence.

Late? That’s what he had to say?

I stared at them—at her—my mind racing. What was...