He turned, robes flaring behind him like a curtain falling on a stage.
The door slammed.
Click.
The lock slid into place. The sound echoed like a verdict.
I convulsed in a sea of silk and rage, thrashing in the luxurious linens as though they might choke me. I tore myself free, my breaths ragged. My vision swam with red.
I lunged toward the side table, seized the heavy metal candlestick, and hurled it across the room with all my strength.
It crashed against the wall with a deafening, metallic clang, splintering wood and splashing molten wax across the floor.
And then—silence.
I stood there, panting, surrounded by the wreckage of my fury. My chest heaved, my hair wild, and a single truth rose in me like a whisper carried on wind and flame?—
I will not be caged.
Every nerve in my body seethed. How dare they? How dare they lock me away like I were some fragile trinket, too delicate to taste the world? I lunged at the door with a guttural sound, more animal than human, and yanked the handle. Locked.
Desperate, I slammed my fists against the wood, screaming into the thick, unmoving air.
When there was no answer—no footsteps, no mercy—I slid down to the floor, shoulders shaking, the fire within me dampened but not extinguished.
I lay in that stillness only for a moment.
Then I rose.
Something shifted inside me. A quiet resolve. The kind that built revolutions and ruins.
I turned toward the armoire. The white silk gown gleamed within, luminous as moonlight, calling to me like a promise. I opened the door with reverent hands, stepped into the gown, and turned before the mirror.
It clung to me like it had been made for me and no one else.
The silk rippled around my body as I twirled, the hem catching the light. I looked like the daughter of nobility and sin, innocence wrapped in rebellion.
Slowly, I removed it again and draped it over its hanger, careful not to wrinkle the fabric. I shut the armoire’s door softly as if the wrong noise might awaken the curse still hanging in the house.
I padded to the window and leaned on the sill.
Below, the vineyards stretched toward the horizon, sun-drenched and shimmering. In the distance, Francesco limped through the vines, his figure shadowed by pain.
I winced. Then I turned my gaze toward the Costa estate. The marble rooftop peeked through the trees, taunting me.
I will be there tonight.
Could I make it to Raul’s house undetected? Perhaps. Maybe I could even convince him to give me one of his father’s poisons—something subtle. Something that would leave my parents sick and unaware while I disappeared into the night.
It was dangerous. Reckless. Delicious.
My eyes scanned the roof’s steep pitch. Slate tiles shimmered in the sun, slick and unforgiving. My heart raced. But the fear only made the thrill sharper.
With a deep breath, I hitched up my long skirt and tucked the fabric into my waistband. My fingers trembled—not with hesitation, but with excitement.
I had always chased the thrill of danger. This was no different.
I knelt on the windowsill. The summer wind licked at my soft skin, a stark contrast to the cool stone beneath me.
