The tea in her cup had gone cold.
Valentina sat alone in the glass conservatory at the back of the estate, long after everyone else had retreated to their corners of the house. The room smelled faintly of roses and old pages — her favorite mix. Moonlight poured through the glass ceiling, catching in the vines that curled along the beams.
She held the cup delicately between her hands, not drinking. Just thinking.
Gia.
The girl had been quiet all evening, skittish almost. But not weak. Valentina had seen the way she looked around the table — not like someone trying to impress, but someone trying to survive.
And that was familiar.
Valentina knew that feeling. Had lived it quietly for years — surrounded by money, power, politics — pretending to be a flower in a room full of knives.
Gia wasn't like the other girls Adrian had dated. Most of them came wearing masks and ambition. But Gia… Gia had come wearing nerves and honesty.
That's why their father didn't like her.
Because she didn't know how to pretend.
-----------------------------------------------------------------
A door creaked somewhere behind her. She didn't need to turn to know it was her mother.
"You're not sleeping?" Nadia's voice was soft, as always.
Valentina shook her head, eyes still on the garden. "Neither are you."
Nadia moved closer and sat beside her, smoothing her long robe. "Your brother's choice... it'll stir things."
Valentina finally turned. "She's not a bad choice. She just... didn't come dressed for war."
Nadia sighed quietly. "No, she didn't."
They sat in silence again, two women surrounded by polished glass, but both thinking about the one girl who didn't belong here — and how that might make her stronger than any of them thought.