The morning sun filtered softly through the sheer curtains, casting warm golden streaks across the tangled sheets. The scent of him—musk and cedarwood—lingered in the air, mixed with traces of vanilla from the candle that had burned low into the night. Maya sat at the edge of the bed, knees pulled to her chest, Liam's white shirt hanging loosely on her shoulders. Her hair was a wild halo, eyes shadowed in thought.
Behind her, Liam stirred. A low groan escaped him as he reached out instinctively for her, fingertips brushing empty sheets.
"Maya?" his voice was thick with sleep, laced with tenderness.
She didn't respond at first. Her gaze was fixed on the window, on the world beyond their bubble. On the unspoken fears clawing at the edges of her mind.
He sat up, the sheets pooling around his waist, revealing the lines of his sculpted chest. "You're quiet," he murmured, moving beside her. "That usually means you're overthinking something."
She managed a faint smile, leaning into his shoulder. "I just… it's strange. How something can feel so perfect it almost scares you."
Liam tucked a strand of her hair behind her ear, his thumb brushing along her cheekbone. "Is that what we are? Perfect and terrifying?"
Maya let out a soft laugh. "Maybe."
There was a silence. Comfortable, but fragile.
Then her phone buzzed on the nightstand. She glanced at it.
Day 61.
A calendar reminder. Subtle, cruel. Her stomach sank.
Liam leaned over and saw the notification. His jaw tightened slightly. "Do you still think about the end?" he asked quietly. "The one hundred days?"
She looked at him—really looked. His eyes weren't the ones of a man enjoying a temporary thrill. There was a quiet desperation behind them, a longing she hadn't let herself fully acknowledge until now.
"I don't want it to end," she whispered.
He drew her into him, cradling her face. "Then don't let it. Stay."
A pause.
"What if this is just the calm before the storm?" she asked.
He leaned closer, his lips brushing against her forehead. "Then let's face it together."
They kissed—softly, not hungrily. A kiss that meant something. It lingered, not with lust, but with promise.
Afterward, as she moved to get dressed, something fell from the drawer she had opened.
A photograph.
She bent to pick it up. It was a picture of Liam with a woman—older, elegant, and heartbreakingly familiar. The woman Kai had once shown her in a vision… the same smile. The same eyes.
Maya's heart froze.
"What is this?" she asked, holding it up.
Liam froze, tension stiffening his frame. "It's not what it looks like."
"Then what is it, Liam? Because I think I've seen her before."
He stood, suddenly vulnerable. "That's… my mother."
Maya stared. "The one who divorced your father?"
Liam nodded slowly. "There's a lot I haven't told you, Maya."
A chill seeped in, even under the sun's warmth. And in the back of her mind, a whisper stirred.
Kai's not done.