The wrought-iron gates of the Fontana villa creaked open, admitting Matilda’s sleek black car onto the manicured grounds. Rain lashed against the windows, mirroring the storm brewing within her. She carried a small, exquisitely wrapped gift box – a belated wedding present for Martina and Silas, a gesture intended to mask her true intentions. But the carefully constructed facade of civility crumbled the moment she stepped inside.
Silas, Martina’s husband, stood in the grand foyer, his expression a mixture of surprise and apprehension. He was alone, a stark contrast to the lavish celebrations she had expected. The opulent surroundings felt strangely empty, the silence amplifying the tension between them. The air crackled with unspoken accusations, veiled threats, and the lingering sce
