Morning came with no sunlight.
Thick clouds hung low over the De Luca estate like a warning. The kind of day where even the air felt sharp. Restless.
Aria hadn’t slept.
Her dreams had twisted into a blur of chains and candlelight, of Luciano’s voice in her ear, low and final: You’re still here.
She hated how true it was.
Hated that she wasn’t even sure what part of her kept staying—the scared part, the curious part, or the one that had started to crave the pull of his gravity.
—
Clara brought her breakfast but didn’t linger.
“There’s tension in the house,” she whispered, eyes flicking to the door. “Something happened last night after the auction.”
Aria frowned. “What?”
Clara hesitated. “One of the men who lost a bid… tried to challenge Luciano.”
Her blood ran cold. “Tried?”
“He
