Bianca stood up with the confident elegance of a noblewoman, her voice a stiletto dipped in glacial scorn. "It appears, cara mia, that you've finally come to your senses. A tad slow, wouldn't you say?"
Ariana's eyes blazed with fury. "Good lord!" she spat, her fists clenched in rage. "What kind of sick game is this?"
Bianca's gaze remained steady and unyielding, like stone.
"Did you enjoy dinner, cara? Especially the company of my Achille?" Bianca purred, her voice filled with playful amusement, a hint of a smile dancing on her lips.
The blood drained from Ariana's face. Her Achille? The very word tasted like forbidden fruit. "Impossibile..." she whispered, her mind a whirlwind of disbelief.
"Signorina Ariana?" Achille's voice, smooth as olive oil, sliced through the tension. His gaze flitted between Bianca's haughty stance and Ariana's stunned expression.
