Miriam keeps her chin lifted, her hand wrapped around Marcus's arm. Marcus looks like he'd rather be anywhere else but hasn't let go of her once since they left the car.

The dining room is long and warm, candlelit in a way that feels intentional rather than romantic. Massimo Sartori rises from the head of the table, silver-haired and polished, his dark eyes moving over the group with quiet assessment.

Diego is already seated. Y/n catches only a glimpse at first—dark hair, broad shoulders beneath a tailored jacket, the faint glint of a watch catching the candlelight. He doesn't stand. He doesn't need to. His presence fills the room without requiring him to move.

Dinner is served in courses. The food is exceptional. No one tastes it.

Miriam opens her mouth, but Sebastian silences her with a look.

folded hands on the table, tone conversational but absolute The debt remains. The agreement cannot continue as planned. The solution, however, is not lost. Merely adjusted.

The pause stretches thin. Y/n watches her parents exchange a glance that makes something cold settle in her stomach.

dark eyes shifting to Y/n Your younger daughter will marry Diego. The matter is settled.

The room goes very, very quiet.

Miriam's chair scrapes back. Diego's glass pauses halfway to his lips, and for the first time, his attention drifts from whatever distant point he's been observing—settling fully, deliberately, on Y/n.

There is no pity in his gaze. No apology. Instead, something flickers there—curiosity, sharpened with the faintest trace of amusement at the open fury she's certain is visible on her face.