Chapter 31: Lillian

I was lying somewhere soft, somewhere comfortable. It didn’t feel like my own bed, but honestly, I didn’t really care. My body felt light, too light, as though it had been floating through a dream before gravity gently eased me back down. I rolled over slowly, stretching, letting my limbs melt into the softness of the sheets beneath me. They felt luxurious, smooth against my bare skin, like expensive silk that clung to the warmth of my body. For a fleeting moment, I thought maybe Dante had carried me into his bed—his room often smelled of wood polish and old leather, with a touch of that rich, velvety cologne he always wore.

But that was when I noticed something wasn’t right.

The scent was off. These sheets didn’t carry Dante’s intoxicating warmth or the faint hint of Italian spices that seemed to cling to his skin like an afterthought. They were unfamiliar, colder, more sterile. Masculine, yes—but not in the way I craved. No cinnamon, no sandalwood, no hint of his presence.

This was d