The storm broke just before dawn.
Thunder rolled over the estate like a living thing, rattling the reinforced windows, shaking dust from ancient beams. Rain lashed the stone walls, violent and relentless, as if the sky itself had chosen this night to go to war.
Isabella screamed.
Not in fear.
In fury.
Damian was at her side instantly, his hands slick with blood and rainwater, his heart hammering harder than any battle he had ever fought. He had faced armies without flinching. Faced his father. Faced death more times than he could count.
None of it compared to this.
"Easy Isabella, breathe with me," he urged, voice raw, desperate, nothing like the iron command his men knew.
She snarled at him, eyes blazing. "Do not tell me to breathe," she gasped, fingers digging into his arm with terrifying strength. "If I survive this, I will kill you myself."
