I look at Wyatt, at the genuine pain and love in his eyes, and I realize that while my heart wants to trust him completely, my mind needs more time.
“I understand now,” I say quietly, my voice steady despite the tears on my cheeks. “I understand that what happened wasn’t real, that you were manipulated just like I was.”
Hope flickers in his eyes. “Snow—”
“But understanding and trusting are two different things.” I take a shaky breath. “I spent years learning not to trust my own judgment about men. I can’t just flip a switch and make that go away, even for you.”
His face falls slightly, but he nods. “What do you need?”
“Time. I need time to learn to trust again. Not you, but me. My ability to see the difference between what’s real and what’s not.” I reach out and take his hand, needing the connection even as I ask for distance. “I need to see, over time, that this—” I gesture between us “—is genuine.”
“How much time?”
“I don’t know. However long it takes for me to stop waiting for the other shoe to drop. However long it takes for me to believe that you’ll choose me not just once, but every time it matters.”
He brings my hand to his lips, pressing a soft kiss to my knuckles. “I’ll wait. And I’ll prove to you, day by day, that this is real.”
“We go slow,” I say, my voice firmer now. “We rebuild this carefully. No rushing, no grand gestures. I need to see who you really are when the cameras aren’t rolling and the story isn’t dramatic.”
“Okay,” he says simply. “We go slow.”
He kisses my forehead, a gesture so tender it makes my heart ache. “Let me walk you to your car?”
I nod, grateful for his understanding, for his willingness to give me what I need even when it’s not what he wants.
Chapter 23
Snow
Six weeks since the beach. Six weeks of slowly rebuilding what we almost lost. Six weeks of learning to trust again — not just Wyatt, but myself.
Some days are easier than others.
That afternoon, I’m at Nico’s apartment, sprawled on her couch with a glass of wine, telling her about landing the Whitfield Beauty contract.
“I’m so proud of you,” Nico says, raising her glass. “For building something that’s completely yours.”
I laugh, but it fades quickly. “Can I tell you something?”
“Always.”
I take a breath, trying to put into words the feeling that’s been nagging at me for weeks. “Some days I feel amazing. Like today — I landed a huge client, I feel strong and confident, and like I really am rebuilding my life.” I pause, staring into my wine glass. “But other days, I wake up and Preston is in my head. I doubt everything. I wonder if I’m making the same mistakes. I feel small and scared and like I haven’t made any progress at all.”
Nico is quiet, letting me continue.
“And I hate it,” I say, my voice breaking slightly. “I hate that healing isn’t linear. I hate that I can’t just be fixed and stay fixed. Some days my backbone is straight and I’m unstoppable. Other days, I let my past push me back into being smaller and less than I am. And I feel like I’m failing because I’m not consistent.”
“Snow.” Nico sets down her wine and takes my hand. “You’re not failing. You’re healing. And healing is messy, and non-linear, and frustrating as hell.”
“But Wyatt must think I’m crazy. One day I’m confident, the next day I’m pulling back because I’m scared.”
“Does he ever make you feel bad about it?”
I think about that. “No. He’s been patient. So patient.”
“Because he understands,” Nico says gently. “You spent six years with a man who manipulated you, who made you doubt your own judgment. You don’t just undo that in a few days or weeks. It takes time.”
“But when does it end? When do I get to just be normal?”
