Isabella’s POV
I woke up with the strangest sensation.
Not excitement this time. Not dread either. Something else.
Routine.
Like my body was finally adjusting to this bizarre captivity, syncing itself with the rhythm of life inside the Romano mansion. Wake up late. Eat whatever Elena brought me. Wander the halls until I got in trouble. Argue with Dante when he appeared like some brooding phantom. Repeat.
And the scary part?
It wasn’t unbearable anymore.
That realization alone made me spring up from bed with a scowl.
No way. Nope. I wasn’t going to let Stockholm Syndrome win. I refused to let this place feel like home. I was Isabella Moretti, not some pet cat satisfied with being locked in a velvet cage.
Still, when Elena slipped into my room with a breakfast tray, I nearly leapt o
