His smug expression froze. The lighter went still in his hand.
The room fell silent.
He exchanged uneasy glances with the others.
Even Lorenzo's face changed slightly.
I looked around at them, one by one.
So that was it.
There was something else they had all been hiding from me.
The meal tasted like nothing.
No matter how carefully Mira Thorne had arranged the dishes, no matter how warmly she smiled at Adriana, everything felt cold and stale in my mouth.
After Vincent's accidental slip about the new operation, the table had fallen into an unnatural silence. Everyone seemed to be eating, but no one was relaxed. The clinking of forks against plates sounded especially sharp in that dining room, where the heavy curtains were drawn and a soldier stood just inside the hall, pretending not to listen.
Mira sat beside me, occasionally glancing in my direction. His expression was calm on the surface, but I could tell he was measuring my reaction, wondering how much I had understood and how much I would ask.
I didn't ask anything.
Sometimes silence was more useful than anger. In this world, it was the only currency a wife was permitted to spend.
After dinner, the rain outside suddenly grew heavier.
It beat against the windows of the estate in thick sheets, blurring the courtyard lights and the wrought-iron gate beyond the glass. The sky was dark, the gravel drive slick, and the sound of the storm filled every room that no one was willing to fill with conversation.
Mira walked toward me with unusual caution.
"Bianca," he said softly, "it's raining too hard. It's not safe for Adriana to go home alone."
I looked up at him.
He paused, then continued, "Why don't you stay here with my Thorne for a while? I'll drop her off first and come back for you."
His words were gentle. Considerate, even. But none of that consideration was for me.
I nodded.
"Alright."
Mira seemed surprised by how easily I agreed. He looked at me for a few seconds, as if he wanted to explain more, or maybe as if he was waiting for me to protest like I used to.
But I only watched him quietly.
In the end, he said nothing. He reached for my hand and squeezed it, a brief, almost guilty gesture, then let go and walked out with Adriana. One of the soldiers by the door straightened as they passed, falling into step three paces behind without being asked.
I watched them leave together. One held an umbrella. The other walked close beneath it. Their backs disappeared into the rain like a scene from some old film, the bodyguard's dark silhouette trailing after them like a vow of protection I had never been offered.
Only I was the unwanted extra standing outside the frame.
As soon as they were gone, I took out my phone and ordered a car. Not one of the Family drivers. A civilian cab from the service that didn't report to anyone.
Mira Thorne tried to stop me.
"Bianca, didn't Mira tell you to wait here? Why are you leaving in this rain?"
I ignored her. The linen napkin beside her plate was folded into perfect thirds, untouched. I didn't want to sit in that house for another second, surrounded by people who had spent the entire evening treating me like an outsider in my own marriage.
When I stepped outside, the rain immediately soaked through my clothes.
Cold water slid down my hair and neck, seeping into my collar. The wind cut through me, and the courtyard lamps reflected off the wet flagstone in broken, trembling lines. Somewhere beyond the perimeter wall, a car engine idled. The estate's security cameras watched me from their posts, small red lights blinking through the downpour, and not one of them had ever kept me safe from anything that actually hurt.
I stood there alone, waiting for my ride, feeling exposed in a way that had nothing to do with the rain.
Humiliated. Abandoned. Ridiculous.
Then, suddenly, warmth closed around me from behind.
I stiffened.
Mira's arms wrapped around me, damp and trembling. He was breathless, his hair soaked, his shirt clinging to his body. He must have turned back the moment the car pulled out of the gate.
