The estate felt colder the next morning.
Maybe it was the lingering storm, or maybe it was Luciano himself—too quiet, too still, like a man holding his breath underwater.
Aria kept her distance.
Something about last night had shifted the air between them. She hadn’t touched him in any seductive way, hadn’t said anything romantic. But something had passed between them in the silence. Something she couldn’t name.
And it scared her.
Because she wasn’t sure who was unraveling faster—Luciano, or herself.
—
She found Clara in the greenhouse.
That’s what the guards called it, though it looked more like a glass castle growing vines and secrets. Clara was tending to a dying orchid, her sleeves rolled up and dirt smudging her cheek.
“You’re early,” Clara said without looking up.
“Couldn’t
