Isabella’s POV)
I woke to the soft, grey light of a Chicago morning filtering through the panoramic windows of Alessandro’s bedroom. For a long moment, I simply lay there, listening to the steady, rhythmic beat of his heart against my ear. He was still asleep, his arm a heavy, possessive weight around my waist, his face peaceful in a way I had rarely seen. The lines of stress and command that usually framed his features were smoothed away, leaving behind only the man, not the king.
The events of the past forty-eight hours felt like a fever dream: the capture of Viktor, the infiltration of the ghost's lair, the final, stunning confrontation with Cassian. And in the middle of it all, the quiet, profound moments of connection with the man beside me. He had gone into the darkness to face his
