ROSETTA

The air in the drawing room felt thin, like the oxygen was being sucked out of the room by the consuming weight of my mother’s gaze. She stood by the fireplace, her silhouette framed by the flickering embers, looking every bit the cold aristocrat she fucking was.

"I am done discussing this, Rosetta," she said, her voice sharp as razor. "You will marry Matteo Allezande. You will do it for the family, for the legacy, and for the security of our name. You have twenty-four hours to accept, or you can pack a single bag.”

“Seriously, Mom?!” I shot out, the anger boiling nonstop within me.

“Yes, seriously.” She...