TERESA'S P.O.V.
It was late—well, a little past eleven—and the house was finally quiet, the kind that wrapped around you and made every small sound seem louder than it should. The twins were fast asleep, their soft, rhythmic breathing filling the room with a comforting melody. I had just slipped under the covers, exhaustion tugging at my eyelids. My thin nightgown barely shielded me from the cold, but I didn't care. The day had been long, and all I wanted was to drift into oblivion.
Lucian had said his goodnights at the door hours earlier. I had naively thought that would be the end of his interruptions for the day.
Then came the knock.
At first, I thought I'd imagined it—a figment of a tired mind desperate for rest. But the sound came again, soft yet insistent.
