Ella
In the dim lighting of my apartment, with the memory of spilt wine still fresh, Logan’s face wore an expression I hadn’t seen before—gentle persuasion edged with determination.
“Ella,” he began, his voice hushed yet demanding attention, “I understand that trust has become a rare commodity for you. But remember when you asked me to trust you? I did. I told you about my mother. Now, I’m asking you to do the same.”
I looked away, trying to keep the emotions from swamping me. The walls I’d built around my heart seemed to crumble bit by bit with each word he spoke. But I was hesitant. “Logan, it’s not that simple. The world I’ve come to know is filled with shadows and deceit. How can I be sure? How can I trust anyone, even you?”
His blue eyes pierced through my defenses. “B
