I close the distance between us, anger burning hot in my chest.
“I was coming into your studio earlier,” I say, my voice sharp, cutting. “And I heard you.”
Matteo’s expression flickers.
“I heard you on the phone,” I continue. “Talking about security. About this house. About me.” I stop right in front of him. “Who were you talking to?”
Silence.
Then—
A scoff.
“You’re confused,” Matteo says, shaking his head. “Valeria, you misheard—”
“I did not mishear you.”
“Yes, you did,” he insists, more forcefully now. “You’re jumping to conclusions—”
“You saidAnton.”
That shuts him up.
For half a second.
Then—
“You’re imagining things,” he says quickly. “I would never—”
“You already did,” I fire back.
The tension spikes.
Sharp. Volatile.
“Valeria,” Timofey says again, firmer this time.
But I don’t step back.
I don’t look away.
“Tell the truth,” I demand. “For once.”
The door opens behind us.
All heads turn.
Lukyan walks in.
Calm.
Composed.
Holding a laptop.
Matteo’s eyes widen instantly. “No—”
He tries to stand, but the guards shove him back down into the chair.
