The penthouse was originally on the top floor, where the primary bedroom now sits, meaning he must have bought the unit below, combined them, and opened up the two spaces.
I sink deeper into the pillow, silently doing the math on what a two-story penthouse in this building must cost.
Forty million? More?
What the heck, Nate?
But what truly catches me off guard isn’t the expansion or even the Banksy hanging across the room.I don’t even want to know how much that cost.It’s the photograph in his closet. Our photograph. Blown up, framed, and hung like art.
Our very first picture taken together, from when we were teenagers at camp, laughing under the sun.
The one I thought I’d lost forever.
Something twists in my chest. I thought I was prepared for all this—for him—but seeing how much he’s kept of us makes my heart ache in a way I didn’t expect.
Every memory, every piece of what we were, frozen in time. And all the years wasted because of me.
Why have I waited so long to hear him out?
My eyes close, arms wrapped around Skye, replaying every second of last night.
It was everything.
Beautiful, consuming, and far too real. But even as I relive it, my thoughts start to spiral. It’s always like this when the quiet settles in, my mind runs ahead of my heart.
Like it is currently, only now, tenfold, slowly intensifying, despite our mind-blowing night. Nate’s god status still stands. Not only in bed, because that’s undeniable.
The way he looked at me, touched me, spoke to me, it was like no time had passed at all. The way he makes me feel is almost otherworldly, like gravity lets go when he’s inside me, and I’m floating somewhere between earth and the stars.
I could drown in the feeling.
And that dirty mouth, I’m almost embarrassed to admit it, from someone who barely uses swear words, I’ve missed every minute of him choking me, telling me to swallow his dick whole.
But more importantly, beyond all the fire and hunger, he’s still the compassionate, beautiful Nate that I remember.
Still the man who held me as if I were something sacred. The man who’s waited a decade without turning his love into resentment.
My life after Nate, before now, feels hollow, a beautiful shell with nothing inside. I’ve missed the connection we had, and I know he has too.
He’s been waiting while I tried, and failed, to move on. The realization hits me like a tidal wave. I sit up abruptly, my stomach drops, as everything comes barreling forward—the penthouse, the necklace, the tattoo, Skye.
His devotion.
I want Nate back. I want all of it.
But do I deserve it?
My gaze catches my clothes scattered across various pieces of furniture.
Shit.
My heart begins beating quicker, panic flickering through me irrationally fast. I close my eyes and try to steady myself, but the familiarity of overthinking rises anyway.
Why am I like this?
Well aware that I’m self-sabotaging, I’m still unable to stop it.
Skye lets out a small whine when I lean down to kiss the top of her head, giving her one last cuddle.
