Two days in the Moretti mansion and the place had already begun to feel like a pressure cooker…too many eyes, too many whispers behind closed doors, and too many men who looked at her like she was an intruder wearing the wrong surname. She had endured it all with her usual icy composure, pretending not to notice the tension that seemed to be crawling through every hallway. But this morning, her patience finally snapped.
She came out of her bedroom with her head held high as usual, nursing her quiet hatred that she was not yet ready to show. The corridor seemed usually busy, with guards marching back and forth with agitated expressions written all over their faces. Riccardo was barking orders somewhere downstairs, and servants scurried about like mice.
She ignored them all.
Her only goal
