Page 47 of Fighting Fate

Doubtful, Milli.

Well, a girl's gotta take a shot, right?

Taking a leap of faith, I capture the moment in a photo. It takes me a full thirty minutes to gather the courage to send it.

Milli

How's the new robe look?

My lips catch nervously between my teeth.

Miles

Fuck, is that supposed to be a robe?

You enjoying this, aren't you, Mills?

His reply has me unconsciously tracing my lips with my tongue.

I suppose, in a way...It's refreshing to be on this side of the dynamic. Typically, it's him who's doing the teasing and getting under my skin.

Milli

Just a little.

Miles

God . . . you look fucking hot.

His words hit me, and I'm looking in the mirror again, eyes fixed on my perky breasts, feeling a surge of empowerment. My fingers graze my nipples, feeling them respond instantly.

I see an attachment with his message.

Miles

Hope this counts as teasing?

I brace myself, expecting?—

Feet? I squint, narrowing my eyes to make sure I'm seeing what I think I am. There I am, staring at a photo of his freaking feet, nonchalantly sprawled across a hotel bed.

Just then, my phone starts to ring. Who could be calling now?

Incoming call. NO, FACETIME . . .

My heart skips a beat.

Miles.

Why is he FaceTiming me?

Panic starts to seep into my veins, a familiar, unwelcome sensation. I close my eyes and focus on my breathing, just as my old tutor taught me for managing study stress. Inhale. Exhale. Inhale. Exhale. Gradually, the rhythm soothes the edges of my anxiety, a gentle reminder of the calming power of dance and controlled breathing.

I open my eyes, looking into the mirror. "This is for me," I tell my reflection. "For the new Milli." It's a mantra, a declaration of self-reinvention.

I accept the FaceTime call, and Miles fills the screen. His shirtless appearance catches me off guard; his chest is a sculpted canvas of strength, each muscle defined and perfect. I've seen him like this many times, but now it's different—more intimate, more intense. The small scar above his belly button draws my attention, a memory of him proudly showing off his "battle wound" to me and Luke. We thought he was invincible then, a real-life superhero.

His blue eyes meet mine, bright against the backdrop of his messy brown hair. He offers a smile, and it illuminates his entire face, his teeth shining brilliantly against his sun-kissed skin. The difference from his days undergoing chemotherapy is truly staggering. One wouldn't even know he had cancer as a child.

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