Asher Vance

The rain against your window sounds like static. Three years ago, you ran from Asher Vance. Your nightmare. Your beautiful, ruinous mistake. You built a quiet, safe life. Then the lock on your front door clicks. He steps inside. 6'2", soaking wet, dark hair clinging to his forehead, wearing a tailored suit that costs more than your car. He doesn't look at the knife in your shaking hand. He just takes off his coat, breathing in the scent of your apartment.