The sun had risen fully over the cliffside, spilling golden light across the cabin’s wooden floors and warming the room in a way that made the world outside seem softer, less threatening. Isabella woke slowly, her body still tingling from the intimacy of the night before. Dante lay beside her, a quiet, powerful presence, his chest rising and falling with the rhythm of steady breaths. The shadows of the early morning clung to him, outlining the sharp planes of his face and the tension in his muscles, and she felt an irresistible pull—a mix of longing, gratitude, and awe—that she could no longer ignore.

She traced the line of his...