I can’t sleep.
The dinner replays in my head on an endless loop. Marcella’s cruelty, Matteo’s smug satisfaction, the way the entire table turned against me like a coordinated attack.
But mostly, I think about Luca standing up for me. Defending me against his own mother.
It shouldn’t matter. One moment of decency doesn’t erase a month of cruelty, doesn’t undo the locked doors and broken promises.
But it does matter. And that’s the problem.
At midnight, I give up on sleep. Wrap myself in a robe and pad quietly to the door. The guard outside has changed shifts, this one looking half-asleep in his chair.
“I need water,” I tell him. “From the kitchen.”
He blinks, considers. “There’s water in your bathroom.”
“I want cold water. From the refrigerator.” I cross my arms. “Unless you’d prefe
