Jessica left Aunt Sarah's room smiling "slow, sharp, dangerous".
The kind of smile that promised revenge, not regret.
The next morning came too quietly.
I woke up alone in Alessandro's bed, sheets still carrying his scent.
He wasn't there.
The room felt bigger and colder without him.
A soft knock.
The door opened before I could answer.
A maid stepped in, holding a silk red gown draped over her arms like a blood offering.
"Miss Jessica said I should give this to you," she said softly.
"Jessica?" My stomach twisted. "She sent this?"
The maid nodded. "She's waiting for you in the garden."
The garden?
"Is Alessandro there?"
"No, ma'am. Mr. Moretto left early something urgent."
Urgent.
The word stung more than it should have.
I murmured under my breath, "What's more urgent than me?"
Then froze.
Wait.
Am I... jealous?
Hell no.
I don't love him.
I repeated it in my head like a prayer.
I don't love him.
I stared at the red gown "beautiful, seductive, manipulative".
Jessica, what are you up to?
I took a warm bath, scrubbing away the tension from the night.
Then I deliberately chose something else: a simple black dress from the wardrobe.
No red.
No games.
I walked to the garden.
Jessica sat at a wrought-iron table under climbing roses, looking like a queen in white silk.
She smiled "wide, fake, perfect".
"Elena," she said sweetly. "I didn't expect you to come."
I smirked. "You sent a dress. I came. What do you want?"
Her eyes flicked to my outfit disappointment flashed before she masked it.
"Didn't you like the gown? I can order something you'd actually like."
"Drop the act," I said flatly.
Her smile didn't falter.
"What act?" She poured tea into two delicate cups. "I feel guilty for yesterday. I was wrong. I just want to make things right between us." I want us to be friends.
"Friends?" I echoed, voice dry.
"Yes." She handed me a cup. "Friends."
I held it, watching the steam rise.
She sipped hers first "slow, deliberate".
"Drink before it gets cold," she said gently.
I smiled thinly. "And why should I trust you?"
Her expression softened practiced innocence.
"I know you're still mad, Elena. I'm sorry. I mean no harm."
I stared at the tea.
Then at her.
"Okay," I said quietly. "Fine. I'll drink."
She watched, eyes gleaming.
I lifted the cup to my lips.
Paused.
She tilted her head. "Do you trust me now?"
I smiled back "slow, cold".
"And do you trust him?"
Her brows lifted.
I continued, voice low. "Do you think he actually loves you? Do you know his type of women? Don't you think he's using you to make me jealous for staying away so long?"
Jessica's mask cracked just for a second.
I leaned in.
"Elena—"
"Elena, there you are."
Alessandro's voice cut through the garden like a blade.
He strode toward us, suit impeccable, expression unreadable.
What's going on here? He asked as soon as he saw Jessica.
Jessica's face transformed tears welling instantly.
"Oh, nothing," she said shakily. "I was just apologizing to Elena for my actions yesterday..."
Alessandro's eyes flicked to the cup in my hand.
He took it from me without asking.
"Hope you didn't drink from it."
I shook my head.
Jessica burst into tears loud, dramatic, perfect.
"Mr. Moretto... you don't trust me? You think I'd stoop so low as to poison someone? After all these years together, you still don't trust me?"
She sobbed harder, clutching her chest.
Alessandro didn't flinch.
He simply poured the tea slowly onto the grass.
The liquid sank into the soil too dark, too thick.
Not just tea.
He looked at her cold, emotionless.
"I know you, Jessica."
She froze.
He took my hand.
"Come."
We walked away.
Jessica's sobs turned to whispers behind us.
"You bitch... soon you'll be out of the picture."
My pulse hammered.
As we climbed the stairs, Alessandro glanced down at me.
"What did she say to you?"
"Nothing," I lied.
He smiled faintly knowing.
"Don't believe anything she says."
I nodded.
But the questions burned.
We reached the bedroom.
He paused at the door.
I looked up at him heart in my throat.
"Do you love me?"
The question slipped out before I could stop it.
Then after a Long Painful Silence.
He stepped closer.
Cupped my face gently.
"You're my wife," he said quietly.
Then he kissed my forehead slow, lingering.
"Get some rest."
He left.
The door closed softly.
I sat on the bed.
Tears came then—hot, silent.
He couldn't even answer.
Was Jessica right?
Was this all just a game?
To make her jealous?
To replace her?
Or...
Was he afraid to say it?
I touched the spot on my forehead where his lips had been.
And for the first time since the warehouse...
I didn't know what hurt more:
The possibility that he didn't love me...
Or the possibility that he did and I was starting to love him back.
To Be Continued...