Alina’s POV

The silence in the house felt heavy the next morning. Not peaceful. Not calm. Just heavy. Like the walls themselves carried the weight of the things I wasn’t saying.

Dante moved easily through the kitchen, dressed in a dark shirt that hugged the lines of his body, the sleeves rolled neatly to his elbows. His presence filled the room the way it always did—commanding, sure, steady—but I couldn’t stop the feeling that if he looked too closely, if he really studied me, he’d see everything I was trying to hide.

And Dante wasn’t the type of man to miss things.

I sat at the counter with my mug,...