The rain had long since begun, as if the sky had decided it could no longer bear the silence of this house. It lashed against the tall windows, ran like dark veins across the glass, and made the shadows dance in the bedroom.

She stood in the middle of the room, feeling out of place. The dress was heavy, unfamiliar, too precious for a decision that had never been hers. Everything here smelled of him: of leather, of smoke, of something cold and dangerous. A house that promised not warmth, but protection—at a price.

The door opened silently.

Lucian Romano entered as if he owned not only this room, but the entire night. His gaze grazing her only briefly, appraisingly, emotionlessly. No surprise. No tenderness. He took off his jacket and carefully laid it over the chair, as if this were a business meeting and not the wedding night of a marriage sealed with ink and fear.