Chapter 1

The Wyoming air bit at my cheeks, sharp and cold despite the late August sun.

Chris stood before me, his duffel bag at his feet.

He pulled me close.

"Three years, Ava," he whispered into my hair. "Just three years."

His voice was a low rumble, the one that always made my stomach flip.

"This assignment in the Middle East... it's a big one. Secret security detail. Top priority."

I nodded against his chest, trying to be brave. I was Ava Gardner, daughter of a Texas oil tycoon, a budding documentary director. I wasn't supposed to cry over goodbyes.

But this was Chris Vance. Ex-CIA, now running a high-end risk consultancy my family's connections had helped him build. He was everything.

"When I get back," he continued, pulling away slightly to look into my eyes, "we're getting married. Right here, at the ranch. Under these stars."

He gestured up at the vast, darkening sky over our family's sprawling Montana-no, Wyoming-it was always Wyoming for these moments-pastures. Our special place.

I tried to smile. "I'll hold you to that, Vance."

"You better." He grinned, that charming, disarming grin that had captivated me five years ago.

He told me then, when we first met, that his life was complicated. Shadowy. I hadn't cared. I loved the intensity in his eyes, the way he made me feel safe, cherished.

Three years. It sounded like an eternity.

He kissed me, long and deep, a promise sealed.

Then he picked up his bag, turned, and walked towards the waiting black SUV at the edge of the property without looking back.

I watched until the taillights disappeared down the long gravel drive.

The silence he left behind was heavy.

I hugged myself, the cold seeping into my bones.

Three years.

I would wait.

I had to. He was my future.

My phone buzzed in my pocket. A text from my godfather, Senator Harrison.

*"He off? You okay, kiddo?"*

I typed back. *"He's gone. I'll be fine. Just... long."*

*"Call if you need anything. Anything at all."*

I knew he meant it. Senator Harrison had been my father's closest friend, a rock for me since Dad passed.

The next three years crawled by.

I poured myself into my documentary work, traveling, filming, trying to keep busy.

Chris's communications were sporadic, as expected. Encrypted emails, brief satellite calls from undisclosed locations. Always loving, always reassuring.

"Missing you like crazy, Ava."

"Counting down the days."

"Soon, my love. Soon."

I clung to those messages.

Friends worried. My brother, back in Houston, urged me to move on.

"Ava, it's been two years. What if he doesn't come back?"

"He will," I'd say, my voice firm, betraying none of the gnawing fear I sometimes felt in the dead of night.

He had to. He promised.

Our life together, the wedding at the ranch, the future he painted so vividly – it was the only picture I wanted to see.