For a moment, all she saw was a crisp white shirt, a clean scent of sandalwood and citrus, and then she looked up—and froze.
Richard?
His expression was thunderous, his jaw locked tight as he held her firmly in his arms, eyes still on Vanessa and Lucinda like they were insects he was deciding whether to crush or spare.
Shantel's lips parted as her mind struggled to process what her eyes were seeing.
"You…" Her voice caught. "You're not real," she said forcefully grounding herself, resisting the urge to fking her arms around his neck.
She didn't realize how much she missed him until now.
He gave a slow smirk, hands in his pockets. "I've been called many things, but never a hallucination. Morning, Babe," he whispered just for her ears.
Babe?
Her heart betrayed her, skipping like a child let loose in the rain.
"Richard…?" Her voice was barely a whisper, as if saying his name might make him vanish.
But he didn't. He was still there. Still holding her.
