When I finally woke up, the first thing I realized was the warmth—deep, lingering warmth that clung to the sheets, wrapping around me like a phantom embrace.
Valentino's scent still lingered in the fabric, a mixture of expensive cologne and something inherently him, something familiar, grounding. It should have been comforting. Instead, it only reminded me of everything that had unraveled the night before.
The moment Valentino cornered me last night, my body betrayed me—sensing his presence, knowing his touch before it even came. The tension snapped and my exhaustion consumed me. Before I could resist, my legs gave out beneath me. I collapsed, instinctively knowing he would catch me.
Golden light filtered in through the tall windows, casting long, fractured beams across the room, illuminating dust particles drifting lazily in the morning air. My body protested as I shifted, an ache spreading through my limbs, heavy and relentless. The kind of exhaustion that seeped into the bones, refusing to let go.
I let my fingers trail across the silk sheets, grounding myself in the sensation. What happened when I got home last night? The details were hazy, slipping through my mind like sand through my fingers, but one thing became clear—voices.
Low, hushed murmurs filled the air, laced with tension, restrained but unmistakably sharp. The weight of them settled around me before my eyes had even fully adjusted to the room. Blinking against the grogginess, I forced myself upright, my body sluggish under the weight of exhaustion. A sharp sting pulsed from my bandaged arm, while a deep, aching throb settled into my muscles—a quiet, relentless echo of everything I had endured over the past twenty-four hours.
As my vision steadied, the haze began to lift.
And that's when I realized—I wasn't alone.
My brothers—Reiner, Ryder, and Ruben—stood around the room, their expressions carved from stone, unreadable yet heavy with expectation. Bianca sat at the edge of a chaise lounge, draped in a silk robe, legs crossed, arms folded, her golden eyes worried. Armando, ever composed, leaned against the far wall, dressed in a sharp, tailored suit that mirrored Ruben's.
