The mansion had been colder since the night I found out about Matteo’s engagement.
Not literally, of course—the De Luca home still dripped with golden light, polished marble, the smell of expensive cigars and roses. But for me, the walls pressed in heavier, the stares lasted too long, and every word I spoke felt like I was tiptoeing across glass.
The fallout with Matteo lingered like an open wound. His silence since then was worse than our argument; silence was final, silence was cruel. I told myself I wouldn’t look for him again, that I was done humiliating myself over a man who belonged to someone else. But my chest still burned when I saw him across the hall, standing too close to the shadows, looking like he carried the weight of ten kingdoms.
And so, when Serafina’s birthday arrive
