Morning light poured through the windows of their Positano villa, painting golden stripes across rumpled sheets. Camille's sleeping form barely stirred as Alexander slipped from bed. His bandaged hand throbbed with each heartbeat, twelve stitches pulling tight against swollen skin. A fitting reminder of the ugliness beneath his carefully maintained surface.

He moved silently across the tiled floor, retrieving his phone from the nightstand. Seven days into their ...