“She fainted. Brides faint. Don’t create drama.”
Damian’s voice stayed low.
“I asked who hit her.”
The ballroom became so quiet you could hear the soft buzz of the camera lights.
Leonardo stood.
His perfect groom’s smile returned, but it sat wrong on his face.
“You are a guest here, Salvatore. Act like one.”
Damian rose slowly.
He was not taller than every man in the room, but somehow he seemed larger.
“I was invited by the bride’s father,” he said.
Leonardo’s eyes cut toward your father.
Your father flinched.
Damian noticed.
So did you, though you could barely keep your eyes open.
Leonardo leaned closer to Damian.
“This wedding is none of your business.”
Damian looked down at you again.
You were conscious enough to hear everything, but too weak to move.
His gaze settled on your wrist.
Your sleeve had shifted when you fell.
Beneath the lace, fingerprints marked your skin.
Not old.
Fresh.
Damian’s jaw tightened.
“It became my business when she hit the floor with bruises under a wedding dress.”
Leonardo’s mother, Evelyn Harrington, stood from the front row.
She was a cold, elegant woman in a silver gown, diamonds at her throat, and cruelty polished into every line of her face.
“Mr. Salvatore,” she said smoothly, “Valeria has always been delicate. Emotional. She has had episodes before.”
Your mother made a broken sound.
“No,” she whispered.
Evelyn turned to her with a look sharp enough to cut.
“Caroline, please. This is embarrassing enough.”
Something inside you tried to rise.
You wanted to speak.
You wanted to tell them you were not delicate.
