(Siena’s POV)
The delicate silver hairpin Raiden gifted me years ago lies on my desk, shifted ever so slightly from its usual position—a subtle yet unmistakable sign that someone has invaded my sanctuary.
My breath catches sharply.
I step closer, and my senses sharpen with acute awareness.
Moonlight filters through the gauzy curtains, casting eerie shadows across the polished wood surface, highlighting the hairpin's faint displacement. Anger coils tightly inside my chest, a hot wave of indignation at this blatant violation of my privacy.
Someone has been watching me, studying my routines, carefully tracking my movements.
The idea sends a chill down my spine, suspicion tightening sharply around my heart like icy, relentless fingers.
Could this violation conn
