I wandered into the kitchen later that afternoon, still wrapped in one of Mateo's soft robes, hair damp from another hot shower. The house smelled incredible - garlic, herbs, and something rich simmering on the stove. Elena was at the counter, chopping vegetables with practiced, steady movements. She looked up when I entered, offering a warm smile.

"Good evening, Miss Isabella," she said, voice polite and gentle, the kind that made you feel welcomed without being fussed over. "Did you sleep well?"

"Like the dead," I admitted, leaning against the island. "That bed is dangerous.... and it's new."

She chuckled softly, eyes crinkling at the corners. "Mr. Mateo had it...