THE SLEEPLESS HOUR
Steven Sy had not slept.
The villa remained quiet, blanketed in snow and silence, but his mind refused the comfort of rest — replaying her voice by the bonfire the night before.
Warmth.
Family.
Laughter.
A home that was alive.
Michelle's words had not been dramatic. They had not been emotional traps. They had been honest, intentional, almost disturbingly clear.
And that was what unsettled him.
Last night, as she spoke of a future filled with connection and chosen intimacy, something unfamiliar stirred within him.
Not panic.
Not resistance.
Awareness.
Until now, his feelings for her had been rooted in immediacy — her quiet humour, her steady intelligence, the way she filled presence with comfort. He had known he liked her. He had accepted that he wanted to be with her.
But what she spoke of wasn't about now.
It was about tomorrow.
And Steven Sy was not the kind of man who could ignore the architecture of tomorrow once it revealed itself.
