Elena sat curled on the couch, her fingers tracing the rim of a cooling cup of tea. She couldn’t shake the image of Luca from her mind—the way he’d stood in her doorway that morning, his presence overwhelming the small room. His words had been maddening, his confidence infuriating. But beneath all of that was something far more dangerous: the way he made her feel.
She had meant to pack her things and leave. The thought of returning to her old life, to freedom, had been a beacon in the chaos of her thoughts. But hours later, she hadn’t moved. Instead, she sat there, her mind a battlefield.
The creak of the floorboards pulled her from her thoughts. Her head snapped up to see Luca leaning against the doorframe, his arms crossed and a faint smirk tugging at his lips.
“You’ve been quiet,” he
