Anastasia stepped into the bedroom, the faint click of the door behind her barely registering over the pounding of her heart.
The first thing she noticed wasn't the warmth of the golden lamp light spilling across the silk sheets, or the soft hum of the evening air through the open windows. It was him—Dante.
He stood near her dresser, a younger picture of her held between his long, elegant fingers. The expression on his face was unreadable—his eyes cold and assessing, but there was something else beneath, something darker. Possessive.
His gaze slowly lifted, locking onto hers with such chilling intensity that it stopped her breath midway in her throat. Her pulse skipped. Froze. Then sprinted.
"Dante…" she whispered, unsure why her voice trembled.
He didn't answer.
Instead, he took a step toward her, his presence like a storm cloud pressing down on the air. She instinctively took a step back, her body reacting before her mind could catch up.
