Isabella POV
The morning sun did nothing to warm the main courtyard of the Moretti estate. The sprawling space was paved with blinding white marble, centered around a multi-tiered fountain carved with mythical beasts. It sat bone-dry and silent, a monument to the lifeless perfection of my new prison.
I stood near the manicured cypress trees, breathing in the crisp air. After my ultimatum to Antonio last night, the heavy dread in my chest had been replaced by a cold, sharp clarity.
The crunch of footsteps on gravel broke the silence.
Julian was walking toward me, his jaw set in a hard line. Clinging to his arm was Dahlia Vance. She wore a provocative, flowing white dress—a deliberate, mocking insult to a bride. She leaned into him, her eyes scanning the grounds with the entitled gaze of a queen surveying her kingdom.
"Darling," Dahlia cooed, her voice carrying easily across the open courtyard. "I think the roses here should be changed to white. It’s so much more pure, don't you agree?"
She looked at me then, a sickly sweet smile playing on her lips, waiting for me to break.
I didn't blink. I simply let my gaze drag over her, from her expensive shoes to her carefully curled hair, stripping away her elegant facade until she was nothing but the parasite she truly was.
"A whore doesn't get a vote in how this house is decorated," I said, my voice slicing through the morning air like a straight razor. "In fact, she doesn't get to speak unless spoken to."
Dahlia’s smile vanished. The color drained from her face, leaving her looking pale and suddenly very small. She gasped, her eyes welling with immediate, practiced tears as she shrank against Julian’s side.
"Julian," she whimpered.
Julian’s eyes darkened with a violent fury. He stepped forward, shielding her. "Watch your mouth, Isabella. You think because you terrorized a few maids you have power here? Dahlia is moving into the main house today. She will have the exact same status as you, and you will treat her with respect."
I let out a low, humorless laugh.
"Do it," I challenged, stepping into his space, forcing him to look down at me. "And I will request a meeting with your father. I'll play for him the recordings from our wedding night. I'll tell him, and the entire *Commissione*(Commission), how you married me not for an alliance, but to hide your pathetic affair with the bastard daughter of a Vescovi."
Julian froze. The rage in his eyes fractured, replaced by a sudden, dawning horror.
"You brought an enemy into this family, Julian," I whispered, making sure every word landed like a physical blow. "That's not just a scandal. That's treason. You'll be lucky if they only strip you of your rank and don't put a bullet in your head."
The word *treason* hung in the air, heavy and lethal. In our world, it was an automatic death sentence. Julian’s fists clenched at his sides, his chest heaving, but he didn't move. He was completely paralyzed by the realization that I held the match to his entire future.
Sensing the catastrophic shift in power, Dahlia tugged urgently at his sleeve. "Julian, let's just go. She's crazy."
Julian swallowed hard, his jaw ticking. Without another word, he turned and stalked back toward the garage, leaving Dahlia behind in his wake.
Dahlia watched him abandon her, her mask of the helpless victim slipping away. She turned back to me, her expression hardening into something desperate and calculating.
"We both have a common enemy in Caterina Rossi," she said, her tone suddenly serious, dropping the fragile act entirely. "My father... Antonio... he tells me things. I can help you destroy her."
I looked at her, genuinely amused by her audacity.
"You want me to be your weapon?" I tilted my head, offering her a smile devoid of any warmth. "So you can take your mother's place as my father's official whore? No, thank you. I'd much rather watch you two tear each other apart. It's far more entertaining."
Dahlia’s face contorted with a mix of profound humiliation and raw hatred. She opened her mouth to speak, but I had already turned my back on her, walking toward the heavy oak doors of the main house.
I had won the courtyard, and Dahlia would undoubtedly scramble to find a new, more powerful ally to save her sinking ship. But as I stepped into the foyer, I knew words and blackmail would only protect me for so long. If I was going to survive the war I had just started, I needed men who answered only to me.
