And somewhere within that darkness I had chosen for myself, where no one could reach me and nothing could hurt me, his voice followed me in.
Not as the cold, relentless authority that usually wrapped around every word he spoke.
But as something far more dangerous and unsettlingly gentle.
Chapter 11
LORETTA
The rich, savory aroma of Jamón Ibérico wrapped around the kitchen like a warm embrace I could almost see.
It clung to the slow rhythm of the evening.
Today was the first time I had cooked in Rafael’s house since moving in.
Usually, the staff handled everything with quiet, practiced efficiency.
But this evening I had asked.
No—insisted.
I wanted this one thing to be mine.
Tess stayed close by my side the entire time, her small hands guiding mine with surprising steadiness.
She had learned my world quickly—faster than most adults ever bothered to try.
She placed utensils into my palm with care, corrected the angle of my grip with gentle nudges, and never once made me feel like I was fragile.
“Here,” she murmured softly, placing the wooden spoon into my hand.
“Thank you, Tess,” I said, smiling toward her voice.
She responded with a faint hum of acknowledgment.
Ever since Tess and I had reunited on my wedding day to Rafael, the little girl had begun to bloom in tiny, precious ways.
Not dramatically. But in quiet, almost imperceptible shifts that I noticed only because I had learned to listen with everything I had.
She still didn’t speak much, but her silence felt less heavy now.
Her progress warmed something deep inside my chest.
But it wasn’t one-sided.
