The garden was silent except for the rain sliding off marble statues and dripping into the fountains. Adriana stood among the roses, the thorn-prick on her palm still bleeding, her heartbeat loud in her ears.
Inside, the music swelled, laughter and applause rising like cruel echoes. Isabella was still basking in the glow of her false crown, parading at Damian’s side as though she owned him.
Adriana clenched her fists, blood smearing across her dress. Every part of her wanted to crumble—to surrender, to accept her fate as a pawn in her father’s game, a rival to the woman who had everything she did not.
But a voice inside her whispered, cold and clear: If you give up now, you will lose him. Forever.
Her tears dried on her cheeks. Her spine straightened.
Adriana Rossi had been born into
