I woke to the smell of coffee and the sound of rain against the windows.
For a blissful moment, I forgot where I was. Forgot everything.
Then I felt the empty space beside me in the bed. Saw the crushed rose petals. Remembered.
Oh God.
I'd slept with Maxwell—Dante. The man who killed my mother.
And it had been... everything.
My body still ached in the best way. My lips were swollen from his kisses. Every touch, every whisper, every moment was branded into my memory.
"You're awake."
I turned. Dante stood by the window, already dressed, two coffee mugs in his hands. He looked tired—like he hadn't slept at all.
"How long have you been up?" I asked, pulling the sheet around myself.
"A few hours." He brought me a mug. "Couldn't sleep."
Our fingers brushed as I took the coffee. Electricity sparked between us, and we both pulled away quickly.
Awkward silence.
"Last night—" we both started at the same time.
"You first," Dante said.
