Elena’s P.O.V.
Rain lashed against the tall glass windows of the Vance estate in violent, sweeping waves.
The morning storm over Chicago was relentless, turning the sky into a dark blanket of bruised purple and heavy grey. But inside the master wing, the silence was suffocating.
I stood near the door of the guest suite, watching my identical twin sister sleep.
She lay under the crisp white duvet, her face pale, her dark eyelashes casting long shadows over her cheeks. She looked so small, so impossibly fragile. Every time she moved in her sleep, a faint, distressed whimper escaped her lips—the phantom lingering effects of the European neurological sedative that had kept her prisoner for years.
A heavy hand rested gently on my shoulder.
I leaned back into Damian’s solid chest, taking a
