Alina's heart skipped a beat when she noticed Dante enter the playroom. His steps were slow, his face as unreadable and cold as always, yet the way he carried Sable was unexpectedly careful—his large hands supporting the little boy with a steadiness that made it clear he knew exactly how to hold a child.
Gently, he bent and set Sable down on his feet. The boy blinked, his wide eyes reflecting the glow of the playroom as he looked around, almost dazed by the sight of the toys, the soft mats, and the miniature castle. For a moment, it was as if he had forgotten to breathe.
Alina's gaze lingered on the scene, her chest tightening at the quiet tenderness of it. But then Dante's head shifted, and his deep crimson eyes met hers across the room. His stare felt like it pierced right through her, too direct, too consuming, and Alina was caught off guard. Her throat tightened, and with a startled breath she looked away, pretending to adjust her dress.
