The morning light was a perfect golden glow, but it felt misplaced. I was sprawled over Roman, my cheek resting against the steady rise and fall of his chest. We were both awake—I could feel the gentle flex of his fingers against my back—but neither of us wanted to break the peace.

"Am I really that difficult to love?" I whispered finally.

Roman stiffened. "Don't you dare say that about yourself."

I lifted my head to find his eyes burning with a fierce, protective light. "Sav, if you could see yourself the way I do..."

"You mean like a train wreck?" I laughed bitterly.

"No," he said, gently gripping my jaw. "Like a wildfire. Beautiful. Devastating. Alive. Not something meant to be tamed."

We spoke quietly about the family, about the strange connection between him and Alyssa, and the secret of Emily’s father. The math was simple—Emily was five, and the man in question had been married for seven. A shadow crossed Roman's face when I mentioned how much Emily looked like him. "It’s complicated," was all he would say.

A knock at the door interrupted us. My mom peeked in, looking exhausted but offering a weak smile. "You two lovebirds coming down for cake? Emily is home."

"We'll be right down," Roman promised.

After she left, Roman stood up to head to the shower. I turned away to give him privacy, my gaze landing on the dark reflection of his laptop screen. I saw the broadness of his shoulders, the sculpted lines of his back as he moved with effortless grace.

A pulse of awareness flared in my stomach—a dangerous, magnetic attraction that I knew could threaten our friendship. My breath caught as the bathroom door clicked shut. I needed a moment to breathe, to remember the lines we weren't supposed to cross.

When he came out, a towel slung low on his hips, he noticed my flushed face. "Vertigo acting up?"

"A little," I lied, stepping past him into the bathroom. I needed a cold shower to dampen the fire he didn't even know he’d started.