Anastasia was still reeling from the shock.
On the outside, she wore her usual mask of cool composure, her steps graceful as ever as she stepped out of the car. But within her, a silent tremor rattled through her bones. The sound of that gunshot from the cemetery still echoed in her mind, sharp and merciless. It hadn't just been a warning. It had been a message, and every fiber of her being knew it. Her fingers trembled, barely noticeable, as she adjusted the strap of her dress.
Just as she was about to walk toward the mansion, Dante's hand caught hers.
"Wait."
His voice was low, commanding. Her breath hitched as she turned to face him.
The cold late afternoon sun glinted off his sharp cheekbones, his expression unreadable—but his eyes, they searched her face like a storm brewing beneath the surface. Then his hand gently brushed her cheek, fingers lingering a second too long.
"Are you alright?" he asked, voice deep and steady.
She blinked.
