The mansion was quieter than usual that night, but the silence did not feel peaceful. It felt full, as though the walls themselves held onto everything that had been said during dinner. Elara walked through the hallway slowly, her steps steady, but her mind far from calm. Every word, every glance, every pause from the table replayed in her head, fitting together in ways she had not seen before.
She reached her room but did not go inside.
Instead, she stood there for a moment, her hand resting lightly against the door handle, her thoughts circling one point she could not ignore.
This was not random, nothing about this was random.
The marriage. The pressure. The way Dante spoke, the way his father watched, the way everyone seemed to expect something from her without saying it clearly.
S
