AUTHORS POV

It was evening.

The fire crackled quietly in the hearth of Don Ramon’s study. Shadows from the flames danced across the bookcases, their light flickering over old portraits and forgotten heirlooms.

Outside, the wind howled faintly, rattling the windows in their frames. Inside, the silence between them hung like a heavy curtain.

It was going to rain that night.

Tessa sat curled in the armchair nearest the fire, her eyes fixed on the burning orange glow. One hand rested on her rounded belly, the other gripping the armrest as if it anchored her to the present. She looked thinner than she had weeks ago, though her body was...