Elena realized too late that the sweater had shifted when she moved. The edge of the highest lower bruise—dark, deliberate, the shape of a mouth still faintly visible near the side of her ribs—showed above the waistband of her pants where the fabric had ridden up. It was only a strip of skin. It was enough.

Rosa’s gaze caught on it and held for half a second too long.

Elena tugged the sweater down hard enough that the motion itself became noticeable. Her face went hot. The thick presence of Marcus inside her felt like it might as well have been written on her forehead. Rosa’s professional smile had frozen...