Past the dining hall doors.
I didn’t look inside—but I remembered.
Standing there.
Serving.
Invisible.
Watching him and Violet from a distance that felt like a different lifetime.
My jaw tightened.
I kept moving.
Finally—
The study.
The heavy oak door stood slightly ajar, a thin line of warm lamplight spilling into the dim corridor like an invitation... or a warning.
I slowed.
Inside, I could hear the faint rustle of paper.
The soft clink of glass meeting wood. The quiet rhythm of someone completely in control of their world.
Of everything.
Including me.
I drew in a breath.
Held it.
Let it out slowly.
Then I knocked.
A pause.
“I’ll send for you when I’m hungry, Chiara,” Vincenzo’s voice came from inside—low, distracted, edged with authority that didn’t need to be raised to be obeyed.
Something in my chest sank further.
“It’s Elena,” I said.
Softer.
Not as steady as I wanted it to be.
Silence followed.
Long enough to stretch.
Long enough for doubt to creep in.
Then—
