The entire ride home was quiet, but not in a comforting way. Andrea sat in shock, gripping that note as if her life depended on it. Her face was buried in my shoulder, her body trembling slightly.

Gabrielle watched us, concern etched deeply into his features, but both Raffaele and Michael maintained perfectly composed expressions. Still, I knew they were filled with questions-questions they were smart enough not to ask, at least not while Andrea was in this state. If either of them had pressed her, I swear, I would've used Andrea's knife on them myself.

As soon as we reached home, Andrea excused herself and retreated to her room. Her eyes were hollow, her movements mechanical, almost like her spirit wasn't there at all.

The moment Andrea disappeared upstairs, Michael turned to me. "Okay, now will someone tell me what's going on?" His voice was low, but the tension in it was unmistakable. He looked directly at me, searching for answers.

I swallowed hard, feeling the weight of what I was about to say. How were they going to react when they found out about the man who was after Andrea-the crazed man who had promised to return and finish what he started? My mind raced back to when Andrea had first confided in me, telling me about the threats, the promise of the most painful death. I shuddered, my chest tightening with fear for her.

"It's not my story to tell," I began, my voice unsteady. "Andrea will explain when she's ready. But you need to know this-if S.R. has found her, she's in real danger." My voice cracked as I said it, my hand slipping into Michael's for comfort, seeking some stability in the storm of emotions I was feeling.

Raffaele stood to leave, but I reached out, gripping his arm tightly. "Please," I said softly, but my tone held a clear warning. "Don't push her for answers. She needs a loving husband tonight, not the jerk you've been acting like."

Something flickered in Raffaele's eyes, a fleeting emotion I couldn't quite place, before he nodded and left without another word.

Gabrielle had been quiet through it all, watching the interaction with a thoughtful expression. "Is this guy really that dangerous?" he asked after a moment.

I sighed deeply, rubbing my temple. "I don't know how connected he is or how powerful, but the things he tried to do to Andrea... They were horrific. He promised to come back for her, to make her suffer in ways you can't even imagine." I paused, my voice trembling as the memories of what Andrea had told me replayed in my mind. "That's why she's been secretly training with Enzo since she was 13. Not even our father knows about it. She told Enzo it was to defend herself from a future husband, but the truth..."

I trailed off, unable to finish the thought. The weight of everything was too much. "Let's just talk about this tomorrow," I finally said, exhaustion creeping into my voice.

Michael nodded, guiding me gently toward our room with his hand resting protectively on my back. As soon as we entered, I moved to the dressing table and began wiping away the little makeup I still had on. I fumbled with the zipper of my dress, struggling to get it undone.

"Michael, can you help me with this?" I asked softly.

He crossed the room without hesitation, his fingers gently pulling the zipper down. As his hand traced the bare skin of my back, a shiver ran through me, but not from fear. His touch was warm, sending sparks through my body. I caught his smirk in the mirror as he met my gaze, leaning down to press a soft kiss to my exposed skin before stepping back to sit on the bed.

I excused myself to the bathroom, eager to soak away the stress of the night. I filled the tub with warm water and poured in my favorite strawberry-scented soap, watching as the water turned a soft pink. After shedding the rest of my clothes, I sank into the bath, letting the warmth envelop me. It felt so good to just... be. To let go, even if just for a moment.

I must have lost track of time, my mind wandering aimlessly. The water was starting to cool when the bathroom door suddenly burst open.

Michael stood in the doorway, his expression torn between fury and fear. His eyes darted to the pink water, then back to me, and I quickly sank lower into the tub, attempting to cover myself.

Before I could say anything, he stormed over, grabbing my wrist and pulling it towards him with a bit more force than necessary. "Did you hurt yourself?" His voice was sharp, almost accusatory.

Confused, I looked at him, then at my wrist, realizing what he must have thought. The water-light pink from the soap-looked suspiciously like diluted blood, and I'd been in the bath for so long. He assumed that I was trying to commit suicide after today's events.

His grip loosened as he inspected my wrist thoroughly, and when he found no signs of injury, he released it, running a hand through his hair. "Sorry," he muttered, his voice barely audible.

Understanding washed over me, and I reached out to him gently. "Michael," I called softly, my tone pulling him from his thoughts. He looked at me, his face still clouded with concern, trying and failing to hide the vulnerability that peeked through. "Come here," I said, patting the edge of the bathtub.

He hesitated for a moment but then knelt beside the tub. I reached out, cupping his face in my hand and stroking his cheek gently. His eyes met mine, softening as he leaned into the touch.

"I'm okay," I whispered. "I promise. I would never hurt myself. I won't do that to you or to Andrea. If things ever get that bad, I'll talk to someone. I swear. I'm not leaving you."

He nodded, the fear in his eyes fading slightly as he processed my words. "I'll be right out," I added softly. "Just let me dry off and get dressed."

He stood, giving me one last glance before leaving the bathroom.

Once I was dressed in a comfortable nightgown, I returned to our bedroom. Michael was lying on the bed, his hands tucked behind his head, but the moment he saw me, his eyes lit up with a warmth that made my heart flutter.

Feeling playful, I dashed toward the bed and jumped on top of him. He laughed, wrapping his arms around me immediately, pulling me tight against his chest. One hand rested on my back, the other teasingly grazing my thigh.

"I'm heavy," I complained, squirming slightly, trying to escape his hold.

Michael grinned, tightening his grip. "You didn't seem to think about that when you jumped on me, did you?" he teased, swatting me playfully on the backside.

I let out a small yelp, which made him chuckle even more. Then, his expression softened, and he leaned down to kiss me. His lips were gentle but insistent, his tongue slipping into my mouth in a way that made my entire body melt. I pressed closer to him, surrendering completely to the kiss, every ounce of energy drained from me in that moment. If I'd been standing, I probably would have collapsed.

When he finally pulled away, he took my wrists in his hands, kissing each one softly before wrapping his arms around me again. "Goodnight," he whispered, his voice low and comforting.

"Goodnight," I replied, resting my head against his chest, content and safe in his embrace as sleep quickly overtook me.