Brianna’s POV
The house feels heavier every day. The marble halls echo like a prison, and every glance Matteo throws across the table sharpens like a blade. Every brush of Enzo’s hand against mine in passing feels like an explosion waiting to happen, as though one careless spark could set the whole place ablaze.
Matteo is my husband on paper, a role he plays out of convenience, and I am the ornament by his side. But the truth is uglier, he has no love for me, not that kind of love. His heart beats elsewhere, for men he entertains in shadows, while I am expected to smile at dinners, to pretend. And yet, despite his disinterest, suspicion coils in his eyes. He knows I am hiding something. He doesn’t know who, not yet, but the way his gaze lingers tells me it’s only a matter of time.
If he
