The night air was thick with heat, as though the house itself was holding its breath.
Aria sat on the windowsill of her room, her knees tucked to her chest, watching the shadows twist across the garden below. Somewhere out there, Luciano was pacing, always restless when something heavy coiled inside him. She didn’t need to see him to feel it—like an electric storm building in the distance.
She hadn’t seen him since yesterday. Not after that moment in the study when he’d touched her cheek like she was both a weapon and a wound.
And now… silence.
No orders. No glances. Just a tense, loaded stillness.
She hated how her chest ached in his absence.
The door creaked open behind her.
Aria turned sharply, expecting a guard.
It was Clara.
Dressed in soft beige, she looked too calm for this
