Brianna’s POV
I tell myself it must stop.
The night Silvio cornered me left a scar I can’t scrub away, not because of what he said, but because of what Enzo did. Too protective. Too visible. The house is a nest of whispers already, and if Silvio suspects, how long before Matteo does?
So, I play my role. I pull the mask tighter. I spend long mornings in the garden with books I hardly read, afternoons with the staff, rehearsing innocence in every gesture. At dinner, I sit quietly beside my husband, pouring his wine, smiling when spoken to, every inch the dutiful wife.
And most of all, I avoid Enzo.
I pass him in corridors with my eyes lowered, my steps quick. I don’t linger in rooms where he works, don’t glance his way at the table. I have even started going to bed earlier, retreating b
