The Tuscan sun beat down on the ancient stones of the villa, a stark contrast to the chill that settled in Silas’s heart. Their supposed honeymoon was a gilded cage, each breathtaking vista a reminder of the deception at its core. Martina, radiant in a silk caftan, moved through the sun-drenched rooms with a practiced grace, her smile a carefully crafted mask. Silas, however, felt the weight of her secret pressing down on him, a suffocating blanket of lies.
They toured vineyards, sampled exquisite wines, and dined at Michelin-starred restaurants, all the while maintaining a fragile peace. The conversations were stilted, punctuated by long silences filled with unspoken accusations. Silas tried to find a way to bridge the chasm that separated them, to understand the woman he had married
