The morning light spilled through the tall glass windows of the DeLuca estate, painting soft gold across the marble floors. For the first time in months, the air didn't carry tension or secrets, just the quiet hum of a new beginning. Aria stood on the terrace, watching the gardens below as a gentle breeze tugged at her hair. She rested her hands on the railing, breathing in the scent of roses that Luca had insisted on planting. He'd said they were for her, for peace, for rebirth, for the woman who had changed his world.
But peace, as Aria had learned, was fragile.
