The morning sunlight slanted through the shattered blinds, a thin line of gold cutting across the cold marble floor. Dust floated in the air, silent reminders of the chaos that had taken place hours ago. Isabella sat by the edge of the bed, her bare feet touching the cold floor, her mind spinning like a storm she couldn’t calm.

Dante hadn’t spoken much since they returned from the safe house. His knuckles were still bruised, his jaw tight with unspoken rage. Every breath he took felt like it was weighed down by ghosts.

The silence between them wasn’t empty—it was heavy, pulsing with everything that hadn’t been said.

“Are you...