The hallway stretched eerily silent, its usual grandeur now overlaid with an almost oppressive weight. Francesca’s heels clicked against the polished floor as she left Alessia’s room, her composure intact but her mind racing. Her stepdaughter’s curiosity had pierced her carefully constructed mask, and for a moment, she had faltered. That question—“What does A.L.Y. mean?”—was like a shard of glass slicing through the thin veil of control she maintained.
As she turned the corner, she paused near the large arched window overlooking the estate gardens. Francesca inhaled deeply, trying to suppress the tremble in her fingers. But the stillness of the hallway was soon disrupted by the familiar chime of her phone. She glanced down at the screen, her blood running cold as she read the message.
“D
