All the blood instantly drained from Elena’s face, leaving her looking like a wax replica of herself.

Before either of them could process the gravity of my words, heavy footsteps thundered from the ballroom entrance.

Carlo Moretti stormed into the corridor, flanked by two massive, stern-faced private security contractors. The patriarch’s face was contorted with violent rage.

“Get this deranged woman out of my home this instant!” Carlo roared, pointing a thick, gold-ringed finger directly at my face.

“Throw her onto the street!”

The guards stepped forward, but I didn’t flinch.

Slowly, methodically, I snapped open the clasp of my designer clutch.