The Moretti penthouse felt strangely colder the morning Aria met Dante's mother.
Aria was in the art studio again, still lingering over the painting from the day before. She hadn't slept much. Dante's reaction, unexpectedly raw, unexpectedly human kept replaying in her mind and the soft way he'd said her name…
She shook the thought away. He was still her captor, her husband by force her father's savior and her own prison.
No amount of softness could erase that.
She was adding careful strokes of white to a section when the door clicked open. She tensed, expecting Dante but instead, Maria, the housekeeper, appeared, her eyes wide and anxious.
"Mrs. Moretti," she whispered, hands trembling. "She's here."
Aria blinked. "Dante's… mother?"
Maria nodded quickly, almost fearfully. "Mr. Moretti says to come downstairs. Now."
Aria's heart squeezed with dread.
She wiped her hands quickly and hurried out, following Maria. As they reached the stairs, Maria gently touched Aria's arm.
"Please," she whispered, "don't take anything she says personally."
Aria froze.
That was not a reassuring warning.
The living room felt stiff, the staff stood unusually still, eyes lowered, as if afraid to move. Aria's gaze drifted to the center of the room.
And there she was.
Isabella Moretti.
Tall, elegant, dressed in a charcoal-gray dress tailored to perfection. Her black hair was pinned into a severe bun, highlighting her sharp cheekbones and piercing dark eyes-eyes so cold they could freeze fire. She wore diamonds, but not the kind meant for beauty; they looked more like trophies.
Dante stood beside her, hands in his pockets, jaw tight. A subtle muscle ticked along his temple, the only sign he was irritated or tense. Otherwise, he was the same ice-sculpture man Aria had married.
When Aria approached, Isabella's gaze swept over her like a blade, critical, unforgiving, almost disgusted.
So this was the woman Dante learned coldness from.
"Mother," Dante said, voice steady. "This is Aria."
Isabella's lips pressed into a thin, disapproving line. "So this is the girl."
Girl, not woman, not wife.
Aria straightened her shoulders. "Mrs. Moretti, it's..."
"Spare me the pleasantries," Isabella interrupted coolly. "I don't care for performance."
Aria swallowed her words, heat crawling up her neck.
Dante's eyes narrowed at his mother, but she didn't look at him. She walked closer to Aria, her heels tapping sharply on the marble floor.
She circled Aria slowly. Like inspecting a product she might return.
"You're very…" Isabella paused. "…ordinary."
Aria stiffened. "I didn't come here to impress you."
"Clearly."
Dante's jaw clenched. "Mother..."
Isabella held up a hand, silencing him.
"I warned you," she said, turning her back on Aria. "I warned you not to make emotional decisions. I warned you not to let some starry-eyed girl into our home."
"I didn't..."
"Oh, please," Isabella snapped. "You married her. Overnight. Without discussion. Without tradition. Without a single family member present."
Her eyes flicked to Aria again, sharp and contemptuous.
"She doesn't belong in our world."
Aria's fingers curled tightly at her sides. "I didn't ask to be a part of your world."
"No," Isabella said, her voice like poison. "But you signed the contract anyway."
The blood drained from Aria's face.
Dante's head snapped toward his mother. "How do you..."
"Don't insult me, Dante." Isabella's voice deepened, thick with scorn. "I know everything."
Aria felt stripped naked. Exposed. Humiliated.
The marriage that felt like chains around her wrists was now openly mocked by the woman who raised the man holding those chains.
"Aria," Dante said quietly, stepping toward her. Protective. Tense. But she shook her head.
"This is what she wanted," Aria whispered. "To see if I would break."
Isabella laughed once, a sharp, humorless sound. "Break? You're already broken. I can see it in your eyes."
Aria swallowed hard. "You don't know me."
"No? I know desperation. I can smell it." Isabella stepped closer, lowering her voice. "You think being Mrs. Moretti will save you. But all it will do is destroy you."
Aria felt the words like strikes against her ribs.
Dante snapped, "Enough."
But Isabella didn't stop.
"You're weak," she said softly. "Too emotional. Too fragile. A liability."
Aria's chin lifted. "I've survived things you don't know about."
"And that," Isabella said, leaning in, "is exactly what scares me. Survivors cause chaos."
Her gaze flicked between Aria and Dante.
"You'll ruin him."
Aria's breath hitched.
Dante stepped between them now, his tone dangerously low. "Get. Out."
But Isabella didn't flinch.
"You think you can protect her?" she asked him coolly. "You can barely protect yourself."
Her eyes softened, just barely, as she looked at her son.
"You're my blood. My only surviving son. And you've brought a stranger into our family's darkness. A woman who will be devoured by it, by you."
She touched Dante's cheek. A mother's touch, but her eyes were cold, not loving.
"I won't watch you destroy yourself again."
Aria frowned. Again?
Dante jerked away. "Your visit is over."
Isabella looked at Aria one last time. A look full of warning. Judgment. Disdain.
"This will not last," she said. "And when it doesn't, remember… I tried to stop it."
She left without another word.
The room exhaled only when the elevator doors shut behind her.
Aria turned away, anger and humiliation knotting in her stomach. She didn't want Dante to see her shake. She didn't want him to see her hurt.
But he did.
"Aria..."
"I'm going to my room," she said quickly.
"Aria."
She froze but didn't look at him.
He stepped closer, voice low and threaded with tension. "Whatever she said, whatever she made you feel, she was wrong."
Aria swallowed, blinking back furious tears.
"She hates me."
"No," Dante said, voice closer now. "She fears you."
Aria turned then, confused. "Fears me? Why?"
Dante studied her with an expression she couldn't read. Something softened. Something dangerous.
"Because," he said quietly, "she knows you're the one thing I can't control."
Her breath caught.
His eyes held hers a moment longer, too intense, too revealing, before he stepped back and let her go.
Aria walked away, pulse racing, Isabella's cruel words echoing in her head… but Dante's final one burning even louder.
Can't control.
She didn't know whether that made her safer or in far more danger.