The Valenti villa, typically a bastion of discreet elegance, had become a pressure cooker of unspoken animosity. Isabella, despite her public triumph, lived under the constant, searing scrutiny of her new in-laws. Every meal was a battle of wills, every shared space thick with unspoken contempt.
One morning, as Isabella descended the grand staircase towards the breakfast room, Laura Valenti, Alaric's mother, was already seated, nursing a cup of espresso. Her eyes, cold and sharp, fixed on Isabella, a venomous glare that could curdle milk.
Isabella had had enough. The subtle snubs, the dismissive tones, the constant, suffocating judgment – it had worn her thin. Her public victory felt hollow when faced with the relentless, private hatred of the Valenti matriarch. She met Laura's glare hea
