Page 88 of Reign

My voice comes out almost steady.

Luciano closes the SUV door behind me. “And yet you’re staring.”

“I stare at architectural crimes too.”

His gaze flicks over my face, unreadable in that deeply irritating way of his. “You can continue insulting the house from inside, Elena.”

There it is again. That low, controlled voice that makes the space around the words feel smaller.

I hate that my body notices before my pride does.

I lift my chin. “This is still insane.”

“Yes.”

That stops me.

I blink at him. “You agree?”

“It’s inconvenient,” he says, already turning toward the front entrance. “That isn’t the same as insane.”

I stand there for half a second, watching him walk toward the wide stone steps like the house rose out of the ground to suit him personally.

Then I follow.

Because this is my life now.

The front door opens before he reaches for it.

A woman in her fifties, elegant and composed in black slacks and a cream blouse, gives me one quick assessing look that somehow manages to feel welcoming and invasive at the same time.

“Señor Castillo.”

“Marisol,” he says. “This is Elena.”

Just Elena.

Not Miss Amato. Not Angelo’s sister. Not Adriana’s sister-in-law.

I shouldn’t notice that.

I do.

Marisol’s expression softens by a fraction. “Welcome.”

“Thank you,” I say automatically.

Then I step inside and forget every other thought in my head.

Oh.

Oh, this is unfair.

The entry opens into a soaring, light-filled space that somehow feels grand without being cold. Warm wood. Cream walls. Massive windows pulling the outside in from every angle.

The light here isn’t harsh; it pours, settling over everything in gold and shadow until the whole place looks less like a house and more like a concept someone built out of all my private, impossible preferences.

A curved staircase rises along one wall in dark wood and black iron so clean it almost disappears. To the left, a living room spills open with low linen sofas, sculptural chairs, and shelves built straight into the walls, lit from within. Ahead, glass doors fold back toward the terrace and gardens beyond.