He stopped walking. For a long moment, he stared down at me, the wine stain on my gown still dark like spilled blood.
When he finally turned, his expression was glacial. That low, resonant voice—pure Alpha authority—cracked through the corridor like a whip.
“Selene. Did you hit Rose?”
My stomach dropped. For one treacherous heartbeat, my mask shattered. Shoulders stiff, a visible tremor racing down my arms. I knew he saw it. Then the performance snapped back. I jerked my hand from his sleeve and pressed it to my chest. “What?” My voice came out soft, wounded. “How could you ask me that? Rose is our daughter. I would never strike her.”
I shook my head, eyes glistening. “Matteo… after everything we’ve been through. That poor maid—I was overwhelmed, yes, but Rose? My own child?” A tear sl
