His thumb traces circles on my skin.
"Bad morning?" he asks quietly.
"I had that nightmare. And then I—I saw myself. In the mirror." My voice wavers. "I didn't recognize myself."
"The bruises will fade. The swelling will go down. You're going to heal."
"What about the parts that don't show?"
He's quiet for a moment. "Those heal too. It just takes longer."
"How do you know?"
"Because I've seen it. Men in the club who've been through hell and come out the other side. Women who've survived things that should've broken them." He lifts my hand to his lips. "You're strong, Ingrid. Stronger than you know. And you're not going to face this alone."
"Promise?"
"Promise."
I look down at our joined hands.
At my bare finger.
He follows my gaze.
"We're going to find him," he says.
"Are you?"
"Yes. My dad's working on something—facial recognition, security footage from the spa. We're close. I can feel it."
"And when you find him?"
His expression hardens.
Cold.
Lethal.
"Then he pays for what he did."
"I want my ring back."
The words come out small.
Vulnerable.
Not the fierce demand I wanted.
But honest.
"I know it's just a thing," I continue. "Just metal and stones. But it wasn't just a ring. It was—it was our future. Our fifty years. And he took it like it was nothing."
"It wasn't nothing. And like I’ve said before, I'm going to get it back." Gunnar's voice is certain. Absolute. "When we find him—and wewillfind him—I'm going to get your ring back. I swear it."
"What if he sold it? What if it's gone?"
"Then I buy you a new one. A better one. One with an even bigger emerald." He cups my face with his free hand. "But I don't think he sold it. Men like him—they keep trophies. Reminders of what they've done. Your ring is probably sitting in a drawer somewhere, waiting for me to come take it back."
