Elena’s POVThe helicopter descended into a secluded Alpine valley.The house below was a precise replica of a sketch from my old journal—a fantasy of wood, stone, and gardens, now rendered in chillingly perfect detail.Vincent led me inside. The air was still, heavy with the scent of aged paper, my favorite incense, and fresh wood. My things were everywhere. Not looted trophies, but curated pieces arranged as if I had always lived here. It was the ultimate act of possession: recreating a home I had never shared with him.“No more secrets, Elena,” he said, his voice low. “No more shadows between us. This is yours. All of it. As it was meant to be.”As if on cue, the front door opened. Marco entered, his posture rigid. He glanced at me, then looked to Vincent, awaiting orders.“Report,” Vincent said, his gaze steady on me. A command. A demonstration of his promised transparency.Marco’s jaw tightened slightly, but he obeyed due to his nature and bond. “The situation in Florence is r
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