The polished doors of the Moretti villa swung open with a dramatic flourish, heralding Ariana's arrival. The click of her stilettos echoed on the polished marble floor, a rhythmic counterpoint to the storm brewing within her. Her face, usually the picture of aristocratic composure, was a mask of thunder, she pushed past the foyer, her eyes narrowed to glittering slits.
Sofia and Lucia, the ever-present maids, stood frozen in a tableau of misplaced cheer. Their bright smiles faltered as their mistress swept past, leaving a wake of icy silence. Sofia, ever the bolder one, cleared her throat, her voice a tentative chirp in the sudden stillness.
"Welcome home, my lady," she ventured, bowing deeply. "How was your outing with Signor Achille?"
