The retreat promised the other half of her soul.

It was a promise with a waitlist: black-sand beaches, redwood fog, luxury glamping, ceremonial cacao, and a bonfire where every guest casts a sigil for the kind of love she’s been waiting her whole life to find.

Draw the symbol. Feed it to the flames. He’ll come.

Marlowe only attends because her boss pays for her to go. It’s all nonsense, she tells herself. An evening of designer spirituality for women desperate enough to believe the lie.

Then every woman’s wish starts coming true. Including hers.

Damian is everything she asked for—patient, devoted, ruinously handsome—and the only person trying to convince her not to sign up for the next retreat.

Because the fire wasn’t symbolic. The women didn’t manifest anything. Every wish was answered by design.

Now the retreat’s charismatic founder and the secretive sisterhood behind her wellness empire expect Marlowe to honor a bargain she never knew she made.

And walking away has never been part of the program.

The fire doesn’t forget what was promised.