Page 95 of Yours Until Forever

I stop him. I’m not ready. Not yet. I need a second to gather myself.

I glance up at the building. It blends in the way only the expensive ones do. Restored red brick. Tall iron-framed windows. Discreet uplighting that washes the façade in soft gold.

Somewhere inside, the bass hums low. Not loud. Just enough to feel it in my chest. Like the building has a pulse.

There are two doors.

The first is sleek steel, framed in black, with a small brass plaque etched with a symbol I don’t recognize. A couple walks out as I’m looking at it, flushed and laughing, on their way to the black SUV idling nearby.

The second door is different.

Matte-black steel, flush with the wall.

No plaque. No handle. No visible lock.

This has to be one of Gage’s clubs.

I’ve barely processed that thought when he leads me to the second door.

As we approach, a narrow strip of amber light flares to life around the frame. Gage presses his hand to the center, and a digital scanner blooms beneath his fingers.

No clicks. No beeps.

The door unlocks like it knows him.

And then I see it.

Just above the scanner.

A single letter, engraved into the steel in elegant script.

A.

The door opens without a sound.

A hush. A breath. An invitation.

I look at Gage. “What is this place?”

He meets my gaze,and his eyes, they don’t answer the question, they promise the unraveling. “Yours.”

My chest pulls tight, and suddenly, I’m feeling everything all at once. The mystery. The anticipation. The weight of that single letter on the door. And the way he says “yours” like he’s placing a precious gift in my hands.

And then he steps inside, holding the door open for me, inviting me into this part of his life.

We walk down a hallway cloaked in shadow and intention. Black walls, lit by a candle-warm glow, and a hush so complete it feels like the air itself is holding its breath. And the scent? It’smine. My favorite perfume, diffused so delicately it doesn’t announce itself, justexistshere. Like it’s always lived here.

An elevator is at the end of the hallway. The doors are sleek brushed steel. No buttons. Just a small screen that lights up for Gage. It recognizes him. And then we’re stepping inside.

The lights are low and warm. The walls, mirrored.And holy shit.The music playing is a piano piece I composed a few weeks ago. Quiet, aching, never meant for anything but my own therapy.

Gage doesn’t say a word. But he’s watching me. And for once, I don’t have any rambled words for him. Not when my brain is working faster than it ever has to take all of this in.

We reach our destination, and his hand comes to my back again. Gentle but guiding, and we walk out of the elevator into a room.

I feel it before I’ve even taken my first step.

The change in temperature.

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