Confusion gripped Annabelle like an iron vise as her eyes locked onto Dante's.

He looked impatient as he listened to Antonia talk.

All the while, his eyes were on Annabelle.

Realisation dawned slowly, mingling with a sharp pang of betrayal that twisted in her chest.

“He wouldn’t let me go just because I looked like his dead wife.”

The thought hit her like a blow to the gut, stealing her breath.

It was cruel.

It was unfair.

And worse, it made perfect sense.

She could barely swallow past the lump that had formed in her throat. Pain swelled inside her, bitter and inexplicable.

She thought back to every glance, every...