The moment Emilia entered Leonardo's study, she knew. The air crackled with a cold, terrifying intensity that only Leonardo could exude when truly enraged. He stood by his massive mahogany desk, his back to her, a silent, ominous presence. Emilia felt her stomach clench, her hands growing clammy.
She knew his anger was directed at her, a direct consequence of Serena's poisonous words at dinner.
When he finally turned, his eyes, usually a piercing blue, were almost black with suppressed fury. He glowered at Emilia as she stood before him, her head bowed in a posture of ingrained submission, her hands clasped tightly behind her back.
The habit of deference, learned through months of living under his formidable will, was a shield against the storm she knew was coming.
"So," Leonardo's v
