Chapter 48 A Mother Oat

• Rain kissed the rooftops of Florence, soft and rhythmic, like a lullaby for a city that never truly slept.
• Inside the Lancaster villa, silence reigned. The guards had doubled. The gates secured. The windows locked. Danger crouched just beyond the walls like a predator, patient and poised. But inside Damian’s bedroom, there was only the steady rhythm of breath, the hush of memories resurfacing, and the fragile peace between two broken hearts.
• Elena stood at the window, wrapped in one of Damian’s shirts. Her bare legs brushed the cotton hem, and the shirt’s sleeves hung long past her fingertips. Her dark hair fell loose down her back, still damp from the shower, curling at the ends like shadows caught in moonlight.