Dante stepped into the room without bothering to knock.

He didn’t need to.

This was his home, his domain, and more importantly, this was Annabelle.

She was his, even if she hadn’t yet come to terms with it.

The sight of her sitting on the bed, calmly flipping through a book with her legs tucked beneath her, should have eased the tension that had been coiling in his chest all day.

Instead, it only made it worse.

Just when he thought they had an understanding, she was defying him again.

The soft lamplight illuminated her skin, casting a warm glow over her features.

Her hair, loose and slightly mussed, spilled...