The long dining table gleamed under the crystal chandelier, silverware arranged with military precision. Servants stood discreetly along the walls, ready to refill glasses or clear plates at the slightest nod. My father sat at the head, posture straight but eyes tired. My mother occupied the opposite end like a queen on her throne. Lucian was to my right, Isabella beside me, her hand resting lightly on her lap.

We had barely started eating when Isabella turned toward my mother with a polite smile.

"Thank you for inviting us, Mrs. Rossi," she said, voice steady and warm. "The meal looks wonderful."

My mother didn't even glance at her. She simply...