The room was dimly lit, the heavy curtains drawn tight against the morning light. Enrico sat behind his desk, his broad frame slouched slightly, his head bowed as he studied the papers laid out before him. His usually pristine appearance was marred by exhaustion, his shirt rumpled, his tie undone, and dark circles shadowing his eyes. It was clear he hadn’t slept much, if at all.
For a fleeting moment, Isabella felt a pang of sympathy. She had never seen Enrico like this, vulnerable, almost human. It startled her and made her reconsider her anger for just a second. But then, the memory of the previous night rushed back to her, his silence when she had confronted him, the way he refused to answer whether he had only used her for her virginity. The hurt flared up again, reminding her of the
