The silence of morning shattered with the knock.
A slow, deliberate knock—three times, then stillness.
Elira was halfway down the stairs when Damien intercepted her, already shirtless, already tense. Delilah watched from the arm of the couch, sipping something red from a crystal glass, eyes gleaming with anticipation.
Damien opened the door to a delivery man.
A tall black box rested at his feet.
No card. No courier name. Just the scent of wood and salt.
Elira’s stomach clenched.
She knew before the box even opened—this wasn’t from Valencia. And it wasn’t from Soren.
It was Golderdy.
Damien opened it slowly. The white dress inside was familiar. Too familiar. The neckline, the soft thread of silver along the waistline. The same dress she wore the last night she spent in Golderdy’s h
