Page 115 of Punishing His Runaway Bride
My hand stopped in the water.
Those cufflinks.
That style, those proportions, that beveled edge—I'd seen them on someone's shirt cuff. More than once. Enough times that five years later, in a bathroom that had nothing to do with him, I recognized them instantly.
I pulled my hand from the water and stood there, staring at those cufflinks.
Not necessarily, I told myself. This style wasn't one-of-a-kind. There must be duplicates on the market. So many places made custom cufflinks. Matching pairs happened all the time.
Resentment, fear, and something else surged toward me, scrambling my brain.
No. Impossible.
It had to be a coincidence. Yes, just a coincidence.
If he knew everything, I wouldn't be standing here safe and sound. He wouldn't let me anywhere near Juliet...
At that thought, my hand froze.
If this was real, then...
Juliet... she really was my Juliet.
She was my child.
I took a deep breath, shook my head, told myself to stop overthinking. Things couldn't be this coincidental. The priority was to clean the shirt, put this aside, and get out of here fast—
Footsteps echoed in the hallway.
I bent back over the shirt, scrubbing. My heart raced a little, but my voice came out steady. "Just leave it by the door. Thank you."
No response.
The footsteps didn't stop or fade. They got closer. Then the bathroom door I hadn't fully closed was pushed open.
I turned around.
And collided with a solid chest.
That scent.
The scent I'd recognize anywhere—deep, warm, carrying that quality I'd spent five years trying to erase from memory and failed—flooded in from all directions in this moment, drowning every defense I had.
I looked up.
A pair of green eyes.
Deeper than five years ago, holding things I couldn't read. Shock, anger, and something more complex buried underneath, like a pot boiling with the lid on, steam roiling under the metal but not yet finding an exit.
"You came back, Olivia."
My brain completely shut down in that second.
Chapter Seventeen
Ezio
I thought I was hallucinating.
