He doesn’t look at the cameras, much less scan the group like the others did. His attention is already narrowed, locked somewhere ahead.
My stomach drops.
Please don’t let it be?—
He comes closer. Details sharpen. Dark hair cut short. A jaw that looks harder than I remember. A body built thick through the chest and arms like time carved him into something more dangerous.
He reaches the top step and lifts his head.
His eyes find mine.
Blue. Striking. Familiar in the worst way. It hits like a wave.
Scott Bennett steps onto the terrace.
Ten years collapse into nothing like time has never passed.
Sound drains away. The ocean blurs. The villa tilts slightly, like my body can’t decide whether to run or freeze.
He looks older. Taller. Broader. The softness that used to live around his mouth is gone, replaced by something sharpened and controlled.
His gaze holds mine. And then his mouth curves—slow, deliberate. Unapologetic. Not hesitant. As though he’s been waiting for this moment.
“Hello, everyone,” he says calmly. “I’m Scott.”
He doesn’t look at anyone but me when he says it.
My champagne flute slips from my fingers. Crystal explodes against stone.
Someone says my name. It could be Emily. It could be the host. It could be a producer sprinting toward me.
I can’t hear any of it.
All I can hear is my pulse roaring in my ears.
Scott’s eyes dip briefly to the shattered glass, then lift back to my face as if he’s taking me in. As if he’s allowed.
My skin goes tight.
Heat unfurls low in my body—slow, unmistakable, treacherous. It slides downward, curling between my thighs like my body is betraying me before my brain can catch up.
No. Absolutely not.
I clamp my thighs together and force my shoulders back. Force my face into something controlled.
“You,” I manage, and my voice comes out thin.
He steps closer. Not rushing. Not crowding.
But his presence fills the space like it always did—solid, overwhelming, and inevitable.
“Lyla,” he says quietly.
My name on his lips sounds different now. Lower. Rougher. Like it’s been carried around in his throat for a decade.
My breath catches.
Dampness gathers between my legs in a humiliating rush. My nipples tighten beneath the thin fabric of my dress.
