Alessia
The sun hung low over the mansion's sprawling garden, painting the sky in hues of amber and rose. The scent of freshly trimmed grass and blooming roses filled the air, a serene contrast to the tension brewing within the family.
I stood under the pergola. The gala was only hours away, but my stepmother, Francesca, insisted on a "family moment" before the chaos began. As if we were some picture-perfect dynasty.
At the center of it all was my father, seated at the head of a long outdoor table, his presence as commanding as ever. To his right sat Francesca, the ever-dutiful wife, her posture impeccable, her gaze sharp.
On my left, Nathalian, my eldest brother, leaned back in his chair, his suit jacket unbuttoned and his tie loose. He exuded a quiet confidence that only came from ye
