The two men withdrew. The bedroom doors closed behind them with a soft, final click.
Silence returned, deeper this time. Not the sterile hush of the hospital, not the brittle quiet that followed violence. This silence felt lived-in. Intimate.
Santiago stood beside the bed for a long moment, gaze fixed on Daniella. She had not stirred once during the drive back; exhaustion had buried her so completely that even being carried through the mansion had left her untouched. One hand rested lightly over the blanket near her abdomen. The other lay curled near her face, fingers soft with unconscious trust.
Morning light filtered through the curtains and softened her features, making her look younger--less guarded, less prepared for the world that waited outside these walls. His gaze lingered.
Then he turned away.
