Hours later, Esmeralda sat in Enrico’s study, her bloodied hands trembling in her lap, still in the torn and stained clothes she had been wearing during the incident. The room was dimly lit, the faint glow of the desk lamp casting long shadows across the walls. She hadn’t moved since they brought her in, too shaken to clean up, too frozen to face herself in the mirror.
The muffled sound of voices beyond the door broke the silence, catching her attention. She couldn’t make out the words, but the sharp, furious tone of Enrico’s voice made her stomach churn. The doctor was with him, no doubt updating him on Isabella’s condition. Esmeralda strained to catch snippets of their conversation, but all she could gather were brief fragments.
“She’s stable, but it’s critical...”
“...lost too much b
