Brielle’s POV
The dining room of the Avanzini estate shimmered under chandeliers shaped like falling icicles, every detail—from the hand-painted dinnerware to the polished mahogany table—oozing old money and curated intimidation. But none of it compared to the cold weight sitting across from me: Savannah.
She smiled like a ghost come to haunt the living, draped in silk, her lipstick blood-red. Robert Avanzini, seated at the head of the table, raised a glass of pinot noir and said, “To alliances. And to unexpected reunions.”
Adrian sat rigid beside me, his jaw tight, his fingers ghosting over the base of his glass but never lifting it. He hadn’t said a word since we walked into the room and saw Savannah already seated like she belonged here.
I swallowed hard, heat rising in my chest. “W
