The dining room was unusually quiet for a morning at the Alfonzo estate. The clinking of silverware against the plates was the only sound filling the air.
Despite the warm rays of sunlight streaming in through the massive windows, the atmosphere felt heavy, almost suffocating.
I sat in my usual seat at the far end of the table, away from Bruno, who occupied the head of the table.
My plate remained mostly untouched as I picked at my food, my appetite nonexistent after the explosive argument from last night.
Bruno hadn't even looked at me when I walked into the dining room earlier, but his cold, brooding presence was impossible to ignore.
His jaw was set, his eyes dark, and his every movement exuded barely restrained anger.
I couldn't help but wonder if I was the reason for his foul mood.
Sofia, seated closer to Bruno, didn't seem to notice the tension—or perhaps she didn't care.
