It had been days since Luciano stepped into Aria’s room and chose not to kiss her.
But that moment… it hadn’t faded.
It had deepened.
Like a quiet storm building in the distance, waiting for the right second to strike.
—
Breakfast came late.
Aria didn’t go down to the grand dining room—not when she knew Luciano would be there. Not when the air between them was still charged with something unspoken and sharp.
Instead, she sat near the window of her room, cradling a mug of tea and staring out into the endless garden.
How could something look so beautiful and still feel like a cage?
The estate was gold and marble and silence. The kind that settled deep into your bones.
But her thoughts weren’t quiet.
They spun with him—Luciano. His voice, his nearness. His pain.
And her own.
Beca
