The dawn was quiet, its light filtering softly through the tall glass windows of Dante’s penthouse. The world outside seemed still, wrapped in the lazy calm that comes right before the city awakens. But inside, the tension between Dante and Isabella pulsed like an unseen current—restless, unspoken, alive.

Isabella stirred on the bed, her lashes fluttering as sunlight touched her bare shoulder. For a second, the peace of the morning almost convinced her everything was normal—that there wasn’t a storm brewing beneath the calm of last night’s confessions. Dante stood by the window, his back to her, already dressed in dark slacks and a white shirt unbuttoned at the top....