Skye’s P.O.V.
I sat hunched over my drawing table in my bedroom, the soft glow of the desk lamp illuminating the room. My pencil moved in slow, deliberate strokes across the paper, my focus entirely on the image taking shape beneath my hand. It was a sketch I had been working on for days now, one that both exhilarated and terrified him.
The subject was… of course… Lila.
I had captured her perfectly—the fiery cascade of her red hair, the delicate curve of her lips, and the striking blue of her eyes that seemed to hold a thousand unsaid words. The image wasn’t just a simple portrait; it was a study of her, an attempt to capture the essence of the woman who had turned my life upside down since the moment she’d crashed into me outside city hall. The drawing was raw, real, and full of the em
