The storm inside Aria hadn't settled since the night in the locked room. The photograph of her mother haunted her every waking thought. Her mother had known this world, had been part of it, and Luca had known all along.
Aria tried to focus on breakfast in the sunlit dining room, the table groaning under plates of pastries, fruit, and strong Italian coffee. But the luxury felt suffocating. She pushed a croissant around her plate without taking a bite.
"You'll starve if you keep glaring at the food like that," Matteo's smooth voice cut through the quiet. He leaned against the doorway, dressed too casually for someone with so much power, shirt half unbuttoned, grin careless, but his eyes sharp.
Aria shot him a look. "I'm not hungry."
"You haven't been hungry for days," he said, strolling toward her. "Not since you started sneaking around the east wing."
Her chest tightened. "Stay out of my business."
