Yet she was inside it. Inside his bed.
Daniella lowered her feet to the cool marble floor and stood carefully. Her body still felt heavy, but steadier now. She glanced around once more. There were no traces of another woman anywhere—no forgotten makeup, no perfume bottles, no subtle feminine presence left in any corner. The room felt untouched by anyone except Santiago himself.
That realization unsettled her more deeply than she expected.
On the side table rested a black watch beside neatly stacked documents. Nearby, a low bookshelf held rows of files, financial reports, law volumes, political biographies, and several unexpected titles she would never have imagined him owning.
Her gaze finally settled on a framed photograph.
She picked it up with careful fingers.
