The moon hung like a silent witness above the Montgomery Estate, casting a silver sheen over the winding driveway. The night air was thick — too still, too expectant. A sleek black Aston Martin idled at the foot of the stairs, its body gleaming like obsidian under the faint glow of the lanterns that lined the estate's grand façade.
Anastasia descended the steps first, her expression unreadable, her spine straight with practiced poise. Her heels clicked softly on the stone, each step sharp with restrained emotion. She slid into the passenger seat without a word, her fingers gripping the hem of her coat tightly.
Dante followed, a silent storm wrapped in black. His presence was like gravity — impossible to ignore, impossible to escape. He slid into the driver's seat, glancing at her briefly. His hand gripped the leather steering wheel, knuckles tightening ever so slightly.
