Alina’s POV

I couldn’t name it, but I could feel it. Like a subtle drop in temperature, a silence that wasn’t empty but waiting—poised. Dante hadn’t said anything outright, but the way his eyes lingered on me now was different. Colder. Sharper.

He knew something.

That morning, when he asked me if it was dreams or guilt keeping me awake, I almost dropped the glass in my hand. The smirk on his face had chilled me to the bone. Dante was many things, but oblivious wasn’t one of them. He was a man who thrived on control, on reading people until there was nothing left to read. If he was...