Meanwhile, Jessica sat silently in the living room, her sharp eyes fixed on the light pouring through the tall windows. A glass of untouched juice sat on the table in front of her, slowly sweating in the heat, but she didn't move to drink it.
Her expression wasn't good.
Her thoughts were darker than usual—frustrated, bitter.
Stella had come home from the Moretti building that day, shoulders slumped and confidence shattered. Jessica didn't need to ask what had happened. She had raised that girl. She could read the defeat on her daughter's face like it was written in bold letters.
And it made her furious.
Things weren't going according to plan anymore.
Everything had started falling apart the moment that girl—that Bella—entered their lives like a silent parasite.
Jessica clenched her jaw, her perfectly manicured nails tapping against the glass table.
