Anastasia stepped out of the car, the click of her heels striking the marble driveway of the Anstorne mansion like a declaration of war. Her jaw clenched, her entire frame taut with fury as her eyes scanned the estate that had once been home to her mother and grandfather—now lost to the greed of the man who had the audacity to call himself family. Her fingers curled into tight fists at her side, nails biting into her skin, but she didn't flinch. Not tonight.
Behind her, Dante emerged with the practiced indifference of a king surveying conquered territory. His tailored suit fit him like a second skin, his hands in his pockets, his expression unreadable—yet there was a cruel glint in his eyes. He was not here as a guest. He was here as a storm. Possessive. Dominant. Unapologetically lethal.
