Illyana's POV
Four weeks. Four weeks since the villa, our sanctuary, became a battleground. Four weeks since I’d run for my life, the rain a chilling baptism that had washed away the remainder of my innocence. Now, as we stepped back through the imposing front doors, the familiar scent of lemon and jasmine hung heavy in the air, a bittersweet reminder of our life before.
The broken windows had been replaced, the bloodstains scrubbed clean. The villa, on the surface, was pristine, restored to its former glory. But the echoes of that terrifying night still lingered, clinging to the walls like a shroud, whispering in the shadows, a constant reminder of the violence that had stained this place, the terror that had gripped me, the fear that still clawed at the edges of my sanity.
My hand ins
