Reaching for the thick white towel on the heated rack, I wrapped it around myself.
The fabric was warm, plush, and faintly scented with lavender.
The comfort was almost unsettling, how something so soft could exist in a place like this.
Water dripped from the ends of my hair, tracing cold paths down my spine as I moved across the heated marble floor toward the wardrobe.
Every step felt too loud in the silence.
Too exposed.
The wardrobe doors opened without a sound.
I chose a black boyshorts.
A matching bra.
I let the towel fall.
Cool air kissed my damp skin, raising goosebumps along my arms and spine.
I slipped into the underwear first.
Hooked the bra next.
The straps adjusted easily over my shoulders.
I pulled on high-waisted black leggings, then reached for an oversized charcoal hoodie.
It swallowed me. Exactly as intended.
I hadn’t even fully settled into the space of my body—when the door exploded inward.
The sound shattered the quiet.
Wood splintered.
My entire body went rigid.
Vincenzo.
He stormed inside, his black shirt sleeves rolled to his elbows, his posture rigid with barely contained violence.
His jaw was locked so tightly a muscle jumped along his cheek, eyes scanning the room with predatory precision.
Then they locked onto me.
Everything in him sharpened.
He crossed the distance in three strides.
Fast.
Before I could react—his hand closed around my throat.
“Explain to me what you did to Violet that made her bleed.”
His voice was lethal.
