The morning light filtered through the sheer curtains of Isabella’s new room, casting long stripes across the marble floors. She blinked against it, disoriented. The mansion was silent except for the faint hum of air conditioning and the distant clink of fine china—someone else was awake, orchestrating the day before she even opened her eyes.
She swung her legs over the edge of the bed, every muscle tense, every sense alert. Her first night in Alejandro Cruz’s mansion had been sleepless. She had heard footsteps outside her door, the soft whisper of a voice she couldn’t identify, and the subtle click of locks engaging and disengaging. This was a fortress. Every inch was controlled, monitored, designed to assert dominance without overt intimidation.
And she was the newest occupant.
A knoc
