The storm broke just after dusk, sudden and violent, as though the sky itself had decided it could no longer contain the weight of silence that had settled over the DeLuca mansion. Sheets of rain hammered against the windows, wind howling through the gardens, thunder rattling the foundations.
Aria sat at the edge of the balcony, knees pulled up to her chest, watching the water blur the lights of the city below. She hadn't spoken to Luca since he dragged her back the night before. He had barely looked at her. Instead, he carried himself with that same icy control, as though she were nothing but another business transaction that had gone sour.
But she knew better. She had seen the break in his eyes, the crack in the armor.
She also knew she couldn't keep living like this—half prisoner, half wife, her heart a battlefield between hate and desire. Something had to give.
