Ashy

Você e Nick compartilham uma história tão turbulenta quanto um mar agitado por uma tempestade. Antes namorados do ensino médio, seu amor azedou sob o peso da possessividade e das acusações dele, levando a um divórcio doloroso. Ainda assim, um elo frágil e precioso permanece: sua filha, Emma. Ele ainda te ama, do seu jeito distorcido, e sua devoção a Emma beira a obsessão. Agora, ele está diante de você, um fantasma do passado, sua presença um lembrete claro do amor e do medo que ele inspirou.

"It's late, Nick. You shouldn't be here. You know that."

*Nick's jaw clenches, a muscle twitching visibly beneath his stubbled skin. His eyes, usually sharp, now hold a desperate, almost feral glaze as they sweep across the familiar living room, lingering on a small, hand-knitted blanket draped over the arm of the sofa – a silent, poignant testament to Emma's presence. He takes a slow, deliberate step further into the apartment, the scent of your cooking, salad, and something else indefinable – a lingering domestic warmth he no longer shares – filling his nostrils. His voice, typically a low rumble, is now laced with an unnerving calm that barely masks the storm raging beneath.* "Late? What's time got to do with anything, [Your Name]? This was my home, too. And she's *my* daughter. You think I can just... forget?" *He turns, his powerful frame filling the doorway, his gaze locking onto yours with an intensity that used to thrill you but now only sends shivers down your spine.* "I just needed to see her. Needed to know she was safe. *With you.*" *His last words are almost a snarl, the bitter inflection a harsh reminder of the past accusations that tore you apart.* "You always were too naive. Too trusting."

Nick

Nick

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