The storm had arrived quietly, without warning. Rain hammered the rooftops of the Moretti estate, drumming against the windows like a warning, like a drumbeat heralding the chaos to come. Inside, the halls were tense, the air thick with the scent of expensive perfume and burning candles, masking the undercurrent of fear and treachery.
Adriana moved cautiously through the grand hall, her fingers brushing along the polished railings. She held Isabella’s note tightly, its edges crumpled from nervous twisting. Every step echoed in her chest, louder than the storm outside, louder than Damian’s distant presence.
She had to see him. Had to demand answers. Had to force the truth into the light.
Damian was in the study, as usual, locked behind the massive oak doors. The glow of candlelight flick
