Liana's POV
I woke to a knock.
Not tentative. Not questioning. Pressure. Deliberate. The kind of knock one might lay at the door of someone who knew exactly what they were doing—and exactly how little I wanted to know it.
I did not wake.
Just stared up at the ceiling like maybe, if I remained perfectly still, I could merge with it. Dissolve into the plaster. Disappear into the building like an old painting no one ever really looked at.
Another knock.
God. Okay.
I peeled my face from the pillow like it owed me money. My limbs were thick, my body sore in that special kind of way like I’d slept under a boulder or fought dreams made of chains. My back gave a lazy crack. My soul whimpered.
It had to be the maids. Could not be Dante. I had not seen him since that drive home from the beau
