Raisel – POV
After a suffocating session with the counselor, I spot Soren in the waiting room. He sits there, oblivious to the hungry gazes of the women around him, his attention buried in his phone. I stride toward him, and when our eyes meet, he greets me with a smile that feels almost too innocent. “Here’s your Americano,” he says, handing me the coffee. I take it, forcing a grateful smile as he guides me out of the counselor’s office. I can feel eyes on us—phones pointed, pictures snapped, their interest feeding off the spectacle of our every move. But none of it bothers me. Not when I’m with him.
We head to the car, ready to sell the apartment Alaric and I had once called home. A few potential buyers are lined up, and Soren insists on accompanying me. As the clients filter through,
