The weeks that followed were drenched in an odd sort of calm a peace too perfect to be trusted.

Each morning, sunlight poured into our villa like liquid gold, glinting off the marble floors and filling the rooms with warmth.

Rafayel often lingered beside me as I sipped my tea, his hand resting protectively atop mine as though afraid I might vanish.

The tenderness in his eyes had deepened since the news, he looked at me now as if I carried the universe itself within me.

Yet peace, I’ve learned, is often the most deceptive of all disguises.

The world beyond our gates whispered with rumours talk of the Morales...