*Milan – Claire's Room, Morning*
The knock came just after dawn.
Claire didn't answer.
Instead, she stood barefoot in the center of the room, holding the couture wedding gown that had been delivered with ceremonial reverence: layers of imported silk, pearls stitched like promises, train flowing like surrender.
She stared at it for a long moment.
Then she picked up the scissors.
---
*Later That Morning – Main Hallway*
Servants stopped in their tracks.
Across the floor, like a trail of casualties, lay torn ribbons of silk—shredded lace, pearl-threaded fabric unraveled and discarded like battlefield remains.
Claire walked past them in a robe, chin lifted.
No veil. No apology.
---
*Vincenzo's Office*
Carlo barged in. “She destroyed the gown."
Vincenzo didn't look up from his gla
