Adam didn't sleep that night.
Sofia's steady breathing curled against his chest, her warmth anchoring him, but his eyes stayed fixed on the ceiling, his jaw locked tight. Every detail of Beatrice's smirk, Natalia's feigned sweetness, replayed in his mind like poison he couldn't spit out.
He wanted to pull her out of this house, out of their reach entirely. He wanted to lock the world away and keep her safe where nothing and no one could touch her. But he couldn't—not when she'd looked him in the eye and told him this wasn't about them. This was about us.
And for the first time in years, Adam found himself terrified that his wife might be braver than he was.
Morning came too soon.
Sofia was already awake, robe tied at her waist, brushing her hair before the mirror. The sunlight made her look like something untouchable, and yet she caught his gaze in the reflection and smiled as if she belonged entirely to him.
"You didn't sleep," she said softly, setting the brush down.
