The Mountain Remembers Me, But You Have Forgotten
Language: en
The dealer eyed me skeptically. Ma’am, this car’s pristine, priced well below market. Why the rush? I rested my fingers on the doorframe, voice flat. Because of a preset seat memory. Yesterday, burning with fever, I sank into the passenger seat, aching to recline. But Max’s hand clamped my wrist. Don’t touch that. That slot’s for Sienna. Mess it up and her back flares for days. He reset the memory, watched the seat glide back, then softened his tone. Sienna’s back is bad. She’s your best friend, Audrey. Show some empathy. Staring at his profile, I felt a wave of absurdity. Six years…