**Rose's POV**
The flames die behind us as Dante's car speeds away from the warehouse. My ears still ring from the explosion. Smoke fills my lungs with every breath.
"Are they following?" I choke out the words.
Luca checks the mirrors. "Not yet. The fire is buying us time."
Dante's hands grip the steering wheel so tight his knuckles turn white. He hasn't spoken since we escaped through that basement tunnel. His jaw stays locked. His eyes stay hard.
I want to thank him for saving my life. Again. But the words stick in my throat.
We drive through the city. Away from my neighborhood. Away from everything familiar. The buildings get bigger. Fancier. We're heading toward the rich part of town where Dante's family lives.
Where I used to live.
My stomach twists into knots.
"We're going to the compound?" My voice sounds small.
"It's the safest place." Dante finally speaks. His voice sounds tired. "Guards everywhere. Security cameras. No one gets in without permission."
"It's also a cage." The words slip out before I can stop them.
Dante flinches. "I know what it is."
We pull through massive iron gates. They close behind us with a clang that sounds like a prison door slamming shut. The mansion spreads before us—white stone, tall columns, windows that glow with warm light. It looks like a palace.
It feels like a tomb.
Guards stand everywhere. They nod at Dante as we pass. Their eyes slide over me like I'm invisible.
Just like before.
Dante parks near the front entrance. He opens my door and offers his hand. I ignore it and climb out myself.
"Still stubborn," he mutters.
"Still not yours," I shoot back.
We walk inside. Everything looks exactly the same. The marble floors. The huge chandelier. The paintings of Dante's dead ancestors staring down at us with cold eyes.
My footsteps echo through the empty halls. Even with guards and staff everywhere, this place always felt deserted. Like a museum where people look but don't touch. Don't live. Don't love.
Dante leads me upstairs. Each step feels heavier than the last. I know where we're going.
To our old bedroom.
My breath comes faster. My heart pounds against my ribs. I don't want to go back there. Don't want to see all the memories of the life we didn't build together.
Dante stops at a familiar door. His hand rests on the handle. He doesn't turn it right away.
"I can put you in a guest room if you want," he says quietly.
Part of me wants to say yes. Wants to avoid this pain.
But another part—the stupid part that still loves him—needs to see. Needs to know if he really kept everything the same.
"No." I force the word out. "This is fine."
Dante opens the door.
The air leaves my lungs.
Nothing has changed.
Nothing.
My white curtains still hang on the windows. The ones with tiny purple flowers I picked out on our honeymoon. The soft blue blanket I loved still covers the bed. My painting of the ocean still hangs above the dresser—the one I bought from a street artist because it reminded me of freedom.
I walk inside like I'm in a dream. Or a nightmare. I can't tell which.
My books sit on the nightstand. The mystery novels I devoured late at night when Dante didn't come home. When I waited and waited for him to remember I existed.
My slippers peek out from under the bed.
My jewelry box sits on the dresser, still closed.
I open the closet with shaking hands.
All my clothes hang there. The dresses Dante bought me for fancy dinners we never went to. The jeans I wore when I tried to act normal. The pajamas I cried myself to sleep in.
Everything.
He kept everything.
"Why?" I turn to face him. Tears blur my vision. "Why would you keep all this?"
Dante stands in the doorway. He looks at the room but not at me. "I couldn't pack it away."
"That makes no sense." I wipe my eyes angrily. "You pushed me out of your life. Made me leave. Why keep my things like some weird shrine?"
"Because removing them would make it real." His voice cracks. Just a little. "As long as your stuff was here, I could pretend you might come back."
"I'm not coming back." I need him to understand this. "I'm only here because people want to kill me. Once that's over, I'm gone."
"I know." Dante finally looks at me. Really looks. Like he used to on our honeymoon. Like I matter. "But you're here now. And I'm going to keep you safe."
He starts to leave.
"Wait." I don't know why I stop him. "Where are you going?"
"To sleep in my office. You need rest."
"This is your room too."
"Was my room." Dante's hand grips the door frame. "I gave up the right to share it with you when I stopped being a real husband."
He walks out.
Leaves me alone in this ghost room full of memories.
I sit on the bed. It still smells like him. Like expensive cologne and danger and something I can't name. Something that used to feel like home.
My eyes land on the dresser.
My favorite perfume sits there. The bottle is almost empty. I barely wore it toward the end because Dante never got close enough to smell it anyway.
I walk over and pick it up.
Something feels wrong.
The bottle is lighter than it should be. I haven't lived here for six months. The perfume should be full.
Unless someone's been using it.
I spray a little on my wrist. The familiar scent fills my nose. Jasmine and vanilla.
My favorite.
A photo frame sits behind the perfume bottle. I didn't notice it before. I pick it up with trembling hands.
It's from our honeymoon. Dante and me on the beach. His arms wrapped around me from behind. Both of us laughing at something. Both of us looking happy.
Looking in love.
I flip the frame over. Writing covers the back in Dante's messy handwriting.
*The last time I saw her smile. Day 127 since she left. Still counting.*
Day 127.
He's been counting the days since I moved out.
My throat closes up. I can't breathe. Can't think.
I hear footsteps in the hall. Coming back toward the room.
The door flies open.
But it's not Dante.
A woman walks in. Beautiful. Perfectly dressed. Dark hair pulled back in a tight bun. Cold eyes that look me up and down like I'm dirt on her expensive shoes.
Celeste Marino.
"Well, well." Her smile is sharp as broken glass. "The little mouse returns to the trap."
"Get out." I set the photo down. "This is my room."
"Is it?" Celeste walks around like she owns the place. "Funny. I was just discussing wedding plans with Alessandro. Seems the family thinks Dante needs a proper wife. One who understands our world."
My stomach drops. "Wedding plans?"
"Oh, he didn't tell you?" Her smile grows wider. "The Corvino and Marino families are joining forces. And what better way to seal the deal than through marriage?"
"Dante wouldn't—" But my voice has no strength.
Would he? He married me once for business. Why not marry someone else?
"He's downstairs right now with his father." Celeste examines her nails. "Discussing the details. The ceremony will be beautiful. Much nicer than whatever sad little courthouse wedding you two had."
She walks to the door. Pauses.
"Enjoy the room while you can, Rose. Soon it'll be mine."
She leaves.
I stand frozen.
Dante is downstairs planning to marry someone else.
After everything. After saving me. After keeping all my things. After counting the days since I left.
He's replacing me.
I need to leave. Need to run. But where? The Giordanos still want me dead. I'm trapped here until Dante decides I'm safe.
Or until he doesn't need me anymore.
The door opens again.
This time it is Dante.
He looks exhausted. Worried. He opens his mouth to speak.
I hold up my hand to stop him. "Is it true?"
"Is what true?"
"Are you marrying Celeste?"
Dante's face goes blank. Carefully blank. The same face he wore when he was lying to me during our marriage.
He doesn't answer.
And his silence tells me everything I need to know.