The bright, golden light of an early spring sun filtered through the sheer white curtains of the master bedroom, painting warm stripes of sunlight across the giant king-sized bed. One year had passed since the dark clouds of Victor Montenegro’s plot had been cleared away forever. It was a quiet Sunday morning. The house was calm, surrounded by the sweet, fresh scent of blooming spring flowers from the gardens below. Under the soft, plush duvet, Elena lay comfortably on her side. Her long brown hair was spread loosely across the white pillows, her face relaxed in deep, peaceful sleep. Beside her, Julian lay with his broad shoulder propped up, his right arm resting comfortably around her waist, pulling her close against his chest. His shoulder had healed completely, leaving only a faint, faded silver mark—a simple reminder of a storm they had survived together. Suddenly, the heavy wooden door of the bedroom creaked open just an inch. A pair of tiny, sock-covered feet tip-toed a
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