LOGIN(Author's POV) Tiffany remained seated in her car long after ending the call with her son. Her thoughts kept circling the same painful questions, and every answer seemed worse than the one before. She was still trying to make sense of everything when her phone rang again. The name on the screen was Tiziana. She answered after a moment. "Tiffany," Tiziana said warmly, sounding relaxed and carefree as always. "Are you free this afternoon? I was thinking we could meet at the Four Seasons. The nail salon on the second floor. We haven't spent time together in weeks." Tiffany closed her eyes and leaned back against her seat. Right now, a manicure was the last thing on her mind. "Tiziana, I need to tell you something," she said quietly. "But you have to promise me this stays between us." There was a brief pause before Tiziana replied. "Of course. You know you can trust me. What happened?" In truth, Tiziana already suspected that something was wrong. Information always moved through
(Author's POV) About twenty minutes later, Vincenzo came out of the bathroom with his hair still damp from his shower. He was wearing a simple grey t-shirt, and as soon as he stepped into the room, his eyes landed on the tray Celeste had prepared for him. On it were slices of toast, some cheese, and a mug that was still giving off steam. He stood there quietly for a moment, looking at everything she had arranged. The change in his expression was small and almost impossible to notice, but something inside him seemed to relax. It was as if a weight he had been carrying had finally become lighter. Without saying anything at first, he walked over to Celeste and wrapped his arms around her from behind. His embrace was gentle and careful. He did not pull her closer or try to hold her tightly. Instead, he simply rested his arms around her waist and stayed there quietly. Celeste immediately became still. Then Vincenzo lowered his head and pressed a soft kiss against the top of her hair. "
(Celeste Moretti's POV) Vincenzo texted me while I was washing my face. Something came up. I'll be back late. Don't wait up. I stared at the message for a second, then typed back: Okay. Then I sat on the edge of the bed and thought about the fact that I hadn't told Carmelita yet. We'd been best friends since university. She'd helped me move out of my mother's house. She'd sat with me in the hospital waiting room after my miscarriage, not saying anything, just being there. She'd driven me to the lawyer's office on the day I filed for divorce. She deserved to hear this from me, not from a social media post. I picked up my phone and called her. "Are you free tonight?" "For you? Always." I could hear her switching off her TV in the background. "What's wrong?" "Nothing's wrong. I just... I have something to tell you. Can you meet me for dinner?" A pause. "That sounds ominous." "It's not ominous." "Celeste. When people say, 'I have something to tell you' in that voice,
(Celeste Moretti's POV)"Leave it," Vincenzo said. "I'll handle the dishes. Stay with your brother."I set the plates back down and looked at Luca. He was staring at the table, turning his fork over in his fingers. The bruising along his jaw had deepened to a dull purple.I didn't know how to start.Luca looked up first. His eyes were a little red at the edges. Not from crying, just from the kind of exhaustion that settles in after a long, difficult day. He was clearly trying not to show it."Celeste," he said. "Tell me the truth.""Tell you what?""Did he force you into this?""What? No." I almost laughed. "Luca, nobody forced me. Vincenzo is a good person. He treats me well. I'm the one who brought it up first."Luca stared at me."You brought it up?""I did."He was quiet for a moment.Then he frowned and muttered almost to himself, "But he's so old."Vincenzo walked out of the kitchen at that exact moment carrying the rinsed glasses. I watched his expression shift. Something tight
(Author's POV) Quentin's jaw was tight the whole way. The truth was, his injuries were worse than Luca's by a significant margin. Sam had bolted the moment things escalated, gone straight for a teacher, and the whole thing had ended before Quentin could do much damage. Luca had two bruises on his face. Quentin had three, plus the split lip. That was the part that sat in his chest like a stone. He had been so certain this was going to go the other way. He had set it up carefully, the things he had said in class, the angle he had taken, making sure enough people were listening. He had expected Luca to either take it or snap and get himself suspended. He had not expected the recording. He had not expected the teacher to walk back in holding a phone with that expression on his face. He had had Luca pegged as a problem from the first week the guy transferred in. New student, quiet, kept to himself, and somehow within a month he was the one everyone respected. It did not make sense to
(Author's POV) Mr. Zimmer came back ten minutes later. He was holding a phone. "One of the students in the class recorded the incident," he said. "Audio and video." He looked at the girl's name on his notepad, then back up. "She had her phone out during class, which is against school policy. Under the circumstances, I'm waiving that violation." He glanced at Luca. "I can have you step out ifâ" "No." Luca's voice was flat. "I'm staying." Mr. Zimmer set the phone on the desk and pressed play. Quentin's voice came through clearly. Every word. The specific language he'd used about Celeste, the way he'd delivered it for the room's benefit, the laughter that had followed. Nothing was missing. The recording was a full two minutes long and it left no room for interpretation. When it ended, the office was very quiet. Zachary sat straight in his chair. His jaw was tight. After a moment he said, "Kids say stupid things. That's what teenagers do. I don't think we need toâ" "Does t
(Authorâs POV) Celeste refused to go herself. So Lavinia went instead. She appeared at the entrance of the conference room on the fourteenth floor of Moretti Holdings, clutching her handbag tightly in both hands, her face arranged into something between apology and desperation. Tiziana looke
(Authorâs POV) Tiziana had spent three entire days beside Adelinaâs hospital bed, and she had not wasted a single minute of it. She adjusted pillows before Adelina could ask. She brought meals from the restaurant Adelina preferred. She sat patiently through the dragging afternoon hours without c
(Celeste Morettiâs POV) He carried me back inside and set me down on the sofa with the same calm efficiency he brought to everything. The fireplace cast warm amber light across the room, flickering softly against the walls. He crouched in front of me until we were eye level. For a long moment,
(Authorâs POV) She had never heard him speak to her in that tone before. Flat. Calm. Measured. Like he had already processed the emotion and was now simply stating a fact. Tizianaâs eyes immediately filled with tears. They came the way they always did whenever she needed them to. Fast. Convinc







