The morning sun slid gently through the cream-colored curtains, painting streaks of gold across the tangled sheets. For a moment, Isabella forgot where she was. The world outside was quiet — too quiet — as though the villa itself was holding its breath, afraid to disturb what had bloomed between them during the night.

Her body felt weightless, her skin still humming with the heat of memories that didn’t seem real. The rhythm of another heartbeat pressed softly against her ear — Dante’s.

He was still asleep.

For the first time in months, his face looked peaceful. The usual hardness that lived in his jaw, the controlled indifference that had...