The morning light spilled gently through the tall windows of Leonardo’s bedroom, casting a golden hue across the room. Elena stirred beneath the silk sheets, the events of the last few days drifting through her mind like a half-forgotten dream. When her eyes fluttered open, she found herself alone in the bed, but wrapped warmly in a soft duvet. The scent of sandalwood lingered in the air—a subtle trace of him.
She sat up, brushing her hair behind her ear, a strange sense of calm washing over her. She was alive. Safe. And in Leonardo’s room.
The door opened, and Leonardo came in, holding a tray with two cups of coffee and a small plate of almond biscuits. He wore a simple black shirt, sleeves rolled up, revealing forearms crisscrossed with faint scars—a silent testament to his life.
"You
