THE SMILE

Dinner that evening was a tense affair; Sienna sat across from Luca at the unnecessarily large dining table, both of them picking at food neither seemed to want, the silence between them heavy with everything left unsaid.

The conversation from that morning still hung in the air—his refusal to negotiate, his brutal honesty about her belonging to his mistake, the finality of her imprisonment;

Sienna had spent the day in the gardens, pacing like a caged animal, trying to process the reality that there would be no compromise, no middle ground, no escape.

Now, forced into proximity again, she felt rage building in her chest—not the hot, explosive kind, but something colder, more calculated, the kind of anger that came from complete powerlessness.

"You need to eat," Luca said quietly, gesturing to her nearly untouched plate. "We leave early tomorrow for Milan; you'll need your strength."

"Don't," Sienna said, her voice tight. "Don't pretend to care about my wellbeing when you've