Elena woke disoriented, sunlight streaming through unfamiliar windows. For a moment, she forgot where she was, then reality crashed back. Castellano's auction. Dante's intervention. This gilded cage.
She sat up in the king-sized bed of the connecting bedroom, taking stock. Someone had unpacked her meager belongings, arranging them neatly in the walk-in closet alongside new clothing still bearing price tags. On the dresser sat her few photographs and personal items, carefully placed as if to offer comfort in strange surroundings.
The bed beside hers, Dante's bed through the connecting door, was empty and perfectly made. Had he slept there at all? Or had he spent the night with Victoria after concluding his "business"?
The thought sent an unwelcome stab of something too close to jealousy
