The morning sun filtered through the wide glass windows of the De Luca dining hall. The family sat silently at the long table, forks clinking against plates, the air stiff with unspoken tension. Aria sat at the far end, her gaze fixed on Damian, who sat across from her, stoic and unreadable. He hadn't looked her way once since they sat down, hadn't acknowledged her presence, like she was invisible.
Her heart ached. Every second was a painful reminder of how far they'd drifted. Of how much he hated her now.
Lyla sat beside Damian, a gentle, fake smile playing on her lips as she subtly leaned closer to him, laughing softly at something Marco had said, though she wasn’t listening. She was watching Aria, closely.
Damian suddenly placed his spoon down with a sharp clink.
“Where’s my coffee?
