The dream clung to Aria like a second skin.
She sat up in bed with a sharp inhale, her fingers ghosting over her lips. They still tingled—phantom warmth, phantom breath. Luciano’s voice still echoed in her head.
“I’ll lock you in me.”
She didn’t know what that meant. Not really. But her body had responded to it with a traitorous kind of heat.
The sun filtered through the gauzy curtains, but the De Luca estate remained heavy with shadows. Even the daylight didn’t feel free.
She slipped out of bed, ignoring the ache in her chest, and walked barefoot to the bathroom. The tiles were cold, the mirror foggy with memory.
Was she going crazy?
No. She was just… unraveling. Or maybe, being rewoven into something else. Something less soft. Less breakable.
Downstairs, the house was too quiet.
