Night settled over the estate like a held breath.
No wind.
No voices.
No movement beyond the slow drift of moonlight across stone and glass.
Elara stood on the terrace steps, arms wrapped tightly around herself, unsure whether the chill came from the air or from the anticipation tightening beneath her ribs.
Behind her, the estate remained alert — not noisy, not restless, but aware.
Watching.
Waiting.
She heard his footsteps before she turned.
Measured.
Controlled.
Familiar now in a way that unsettled her more than it comforted.
"You said you wanted truth," Alessandro said quietly.
His voice carried no authority tonight.
Only weight.
She swallowed.
"Yeah," she murmured. "I did."
Silence stretched between them, thin and taut as wire.
"You may ask me to stop," he said.
She shook her head immediately.
"No."
Her voice came out steadier than she felt.
He studied her a moment longer, as if searching for hesitation she refused to show.
