Before we were forced to spend time together in training, I’d already formed an opinion about who he was based on what Vincent told me, what I read in the press, and the mere fact that he was Asher fucking Donovan. How could someone so famous and good-looking not be an arrogant playboy? But over the past few months, I’d discovered that he was so much more than the words other people used to pigeonhole him. It wasn’t about what he did so much as how he made me feel—like I was safe, worthy, and cherished. Like I could share my deepest secrets and ugliest thoughts without diminishing myself in
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