Chapter 1 - THE TRUTH IN THE CONSERVATORY
The silence in the conservatory was absolute. It pressed against the glass walls, heavy and suffocating, as Dominic Rossi knelt on the cold marble floor beside me. His white linen handkerchief was already blooming with a spot of crimson from my cheek, but his hand remained impossibly steady.
"Is that true, Skylar?" Dominic asked again.
His voice didn't rise. It didn't tremble. It was a flat, low rumble that seemed to vibrate straight through the floorboards.
I tried to swallow, but my throat felt dry as ash. Pain throbbed behind my eye, a hot, nauseating pulse that made the glittering glass chandeliers above us swing in hazy circles. Across the room, Bianca stood frozen, her hands clenched into tight fists at her sides. Her manicured nails bit so hard into her palms that I wondered if she was drawing her own blood.
"Answer him!" Bianca barked, her voice cracking with a high-pitched edge that shattered her usual icy composure. "Tell him you tripped, Penny! Tell him you stumbled into me like you always do!"
Dominic didn't even turn his head toward her. He didn't look at his security detail standing at the door. His dark, impenetrable eyes remained locked onto mine.
"Skylar," he whispered, his thumb lightly touching my chin to keep my head elevated. "Look at me. Did she strike my mother?"
"She... she raised her hand, sir," I managed to whisper, the taste of copper thick on my tongue. "Mrs. Rossi was frightened. I just... I stepped in front of her. That's all."
Carmela sobbed, wrapping her thin arms around my shoulders from behind, pulling my head gently against her knees. "She took the hit for me, Dominic! That wretched girl was going to strike me in my own home!"
"Dominic, this is insane!" Bianca shrieked, taking two sharp steps forward, her diamond heels clicking violently against the floor. "You're listening to a senile old woman and a fat, clumsy maid who can't keep her feet under her! Look at my dress! Look at what your mother did to my custom gown!"
Dominic stood up slowly.
He didn't rush. He rose with the fluid, lethal grace of a predator that had already decided the fate of its prey. Standing at six foot three, broad-shouldered in his bespoke tuxedo, he loomed over Bianca like a shadow blocking out the sun.
Bianca flinched, taking a tiny step backward, but her pride kept her chin raised. "Dominic—"
"Frankie," Dominic said quietly, calling out to the head of his security team without looking back.
"Yes, Boss?" Frankie replied from the archway.
"Where are the conservatory cameras routed?"
Bianca’s face instantly drained of all color. Her mouth opened, but no sound came out.
"The conservatory has three high-definition lenses, sir," Frankie stated in a flat, mechanical tone. "One under the north arch, one hidden in the iron chandelier, and one covering the garden exit. All three route directly to your private server."
"Check the feed from ten minutes ago," Dominic ordered. "Pull it up on my phone."
"Dominic, wait!" Bianca stammered, her hands reaching out to grab his sleeve. "There's no need for that! I was stressed! I was upset because your mother kept forgetting my name! She called me 'that pushy Moretti girl' and dropped her glass! I lost my temper, okay? It was an accident!"
Dominic reached down and calmly unclasped Bianca’s fingers from his jacket sleeve. He didn't push her away; he simply detached her as if she were a piece of stray lint.
"An accident," Dominic repeated softly.
Frankie stepped forward and handed a dark sleek smartphone to Dominic. Dominic tapped the screen once.
For thirty seconds, the only sound in the grand room was the soft, muffled crying of Carmela and the mechanical hum of the estate's air filtration system. Dominic’s face remained completely unreadable as he watched the digital playback. He saw the sharp angle of Bianca's arm swinging backward. He saw the heavy diamond ring catching the ambient light. And he saw my heavy, ungraceful frame lunging forward, throwing my body between the blow and his frail mother.
When Dominic lowered the phone, his eyes weren't just dark—they were hollow.
"You struck an employee in my home," Dominic said, his voice dropping an octave lower. "And you raised your hand against my mother."
"She provoked me!" Bianca cried, tears finally spilling over her dark mascara, though they looked more like tears of rage than remorse. "She's losing her mind, Dominic! Everyone knows it! The staff talks about it! She's unfit to live here! Once we're married, she needs to be put in a facility—"
SLAP.
The sound echoed through the high glass ceiling.
It wasn't Dominic who hit her. It was Carmela.
The seventy-year-old woman had dragged herself up from the floor, her body trembling with righteous fury, her hand still raised in the air.
"Get out of my house," Carmela spat, her voice ringing clear and strong, stripped of all confusion. "Get out before my son forgets his manners."
Bianca clutched her red cheek, staring at Carmela in sheer disbelief, then looked to Dominic for support.
Dominic didn't move an inch to defend her. He simply looked at Frankie.
"Escort Miss Moretti to the gate," Dominic commanded smoothly. "Collect her belongings from the guest suite. Strip her security clearance. If she or any member of the Moretti family sets foot on Rossi property again, consider it a trespass under active threat protocol."
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"Dominic! You can't do this!" Bianca screamed as two towering security guards stepped on either side of her, firm fingers gripping her shoulders. "Our families have a contract! My father will destroy your shipping routes for this!"
"Tell your father," Dominic said, turning his back on her completely, "that I will be sending him the video feed alongside the legal termination of our merger. Now get out."
