Dante stood in the doorway.

His broad shoulders were framed by the golden light spilling in from the hallway.

His dark eyes swept over the room as he noted the dishevelled bed and the faintly trembling figure of Annabelle.

He frowned slightly at the way she hugged herself as if to keep from falling apart.

She was wearing one of those plain shirts that hung loose around her petite frame, paired with simple leggings.

Her rich cascade of chestnut waves looked slightly mussed.

It was as though she’d been tugging at it in frustration and Dante could guess why.

He could see the tension in the tight line of her...