Elena didn’t speak to Luca for two days.
Not a word.
Silence filled the estate like smoke—thick, suffocating, unavoidable. Luca felt it in every room, every glance, every door that closed too softly.
He could survive enemies.
He could not survive her doubt.
“I need security footage,” he told his head of surveillance. “Everything from that night.”
“Sir,” the man hesitated. “Some corridors—”
“Everything,” Luca repeated.
He watched the footage alone.
Frame by frame.
He saw himself leave the bar.
He saw Isabella walking beside him.
He saw them enter the west wing.
And then—
Nothing.
No room entry.
No intimacy.
No crossing of thresholds.
At 2:17 a.m., Isabella exited alone.
At 2:19 a.m., Luca collapsed onto a couch in the adjoining hall and didn’t move for hours.
Luca exhale
