The Moretti estate glittered that night, its marble halls alive with laughter and the sharp clink of crystal. To the families gathered, it was another night of feasting, another show of power. But beneath the chandeliers, war was being played in whispers and glances.
Damian sat at the head of the long table, his glass untouched, his gaze dark as storm clouds. He felt the weight of every eye on him, waiting for his next move. Yet his mind was elsewhere—on Adriana. On her silence. On the growing shadow between them.
And on Isabella.
She sat beside him like a queen in her rightful throne, her smile radiant, her hand resting possessively close to his. To the world, she looked like his partner. But to Damian, she looked like a venomous crown tightening around his skull.
---
Isabella leaned
