The late afternoon sun spilled golden light over the waterfront promenade, the ocean shimmering as seagulls called overhead. Lily skipped ahead, her hand clutching a small paper bag of warm, sugar-dusted doughnuts. Dante kept a steady watch on her, his arm loosely draped around Monica’s shoulders.
The rain had stopped by morning. Light streamed through the wide windows of Dante’s estate, spilling across the kitchen where Monica stood barefoot, hair loose, wearing one of his shirts. She was stirring Lily’s oatmeal, the steam curling into the air. She didn’t even realize she was humming—an ol
The breakfast had been a slow, simmering torture. Monica sat rigid in the high-backed chair, her fingers curled around the delicate porcelain cup as though it might shatter under the weight of her pulse. Across from her, Dante lounged like a king who’d already won the war, one hand lazily draped o
Her cottage could fit into this place twenty times over. At the end of the hall, a set of double doors swung open. The dining room stretched long and wide, sunlight spilling through tall windows. The smell of coffee and expensive leather filled the air. And there he was. Sitting at the head of
Monica’s eyes snapped open. For a second, she thought she was in one of those luxury hotel commercials — the kind she used to mute while eating instant noodles because they made her feel broke. The ceiling stretched high above her, painted with pale cream swirls and gold accents. The curtains, h
A man stepped in like he owned the place — dressed in black from boots to gloves, black tactical vest, mirrored sunglasses even though it was night. The faint squawk of radio static came from the earpiece buried in his ear. And the rifle in his hands… that spoke louder than words. Monica froze. He