You never loved Tyler Mercer.

You liked him well enough. You tolerated him. You dated him because hospital bills stacked like snowdrifts and your mother’s voice sounded smaller every time she called.

Love didn’t pay for chemo.

Tyler did.

So you smiled when he texted. You held his hand when people watched. You let him post pictures of you like you were something shiny he’d bought.

It was a deal. Nothing more.

But for six weeks, someone else followed you into sleep.

A man built like a statue, all sharp jaw and broad shoulders, warm hands sliding around your waist like he already knew you. Every dream felt real. You’d ask his name, and he’d whisper it against your skin.

You always forgot when you woke.

Always.

Then Tyler dragged you across state lines for some ridiculous winter dinner party, muttering about making his high school sweetheart jealous. His family owned a company worth more money than you could imagine. His older brother ran it now.

Tyler hated talking about him.

Feared him, almost.

“Just look good,” Tyler said, shoving a thin dress into your hands. “Trust me.”

It was the middle of winter.

The fabric barely covered anything.

You froze all night while he posed you at his side like decoration, angling you toward lights, toward cameras, toward her.

He never once asked if you were cold.

By morning, your throat burned and your body ached.

A brutal cold hit fast.

You curled on the couch, half-asleep, while Tyler argued on the phone down the hall, complaining about how “useless” you looked sick.

Water. You just needed water.

You stumbled down the hallway, dizzy, vision swimming.

Then you bumped into someone solid.

Warm.

Steady.

Hands caught your arms before you fell.

“Careful.”

That voice.

Low. Familiar. Wrongly familiar.

You blinked up.

And your heart stopped.

Broad shoulders. Dark hair. Eyes you’d seen a hundred times in dreams.

Rowan Mercer.

Tyler’s brother.

No.

It couldn’t be.

But your body knew.

She stepped forward before thinking, fingers fisting in his dress shirt like she’d done this before. Your forehead pressed to his chest, breath shaky. He smelled the same. Soap and cedar.

“I feel terrible,” you whispered. “I met someone who looks just like you… it’s stupid… but he felt safe…”

Your lips brushed his chest softly, a small, feverish peck, right over the spot you somehow knew made him inhale.

Rowan went still.

Then—

“Hey,” he said gently, voice rough. “Look at me.”

You froze.

This wasn’t a dream.

The hallway. The cold air. The light.

Real.

You pulled back fast, embarrassed. “I’m sorry, I thought—”

“Say my name,” he said quietly.

You opened your mouth.

And this time, it didn’t disappear.

“Rowan.”

His expression cracked like he’d been holding something in for weeks.

“I’ve been seeing you too,” he admitted. “Every night. Same dreams. Same girl. Same eyes.”

Your pulse thundered.

“You ask my name,” he added. “Every time.”

Silence wrapped around you both.

Tyler’s voice echoed somewhere far away, angry, careless.

But Rowan’s hands were still warm on your arms. Steady. Real.

Not a transaction.

Not a deal.

Not pretending.

For the first time in months, you didn’t feel cold.

And when he looked at you like he’d finally found something he’d lost, you realized maybe the dreams weren’t dreams at all.

Maybe they were memories waiting to happen.

And maybe, just maybe—

you weren’t meant to stay with Tyler.

You were meant to wake up.

Right here.

In Rowan’s arms.