Sylvia and Luke appear to have the perfect life. A thriving fashion startup, a beautiful four-year-old daughter, and a love that began when they met at Harvard Business School. But beneath the surface, Luke hides a dark secret-he's the heir to one o...
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
As I make my way to the closet to change for dinner, relief washes over me like a gentle wave. Maria's words, spoken with such genuine care, reassure me that Lyria is safe with Luke's mother. I glance over at Luke, who is expressing his gratitude to Maria, and I can't help but feel a twinge of frustration mixed with admiration for his ability to handle the situation.
As I rummage through the closet for something to wear, I find myself contemplating everything I know about Luke – his name is not even Luke, what else is he hiding? Does he really love me? Who should I trust here? But in this moment, amidst the chaos and uncertainty, I realize that dwelling on our differences won't help me find solace. My priority now is Lyria, ensuring that she is safe
But I push those thoughts aside, focusing instead on the most important thing. Lyria. My mind races with memories of her sweet smile and infectious laughter, and I can't help but worry about her well-being in our absence. I take a deep breath, trying to swallow the overwhelming emotions threatening to consume me.
Reaching the ornately carved closet doors, I flung them open, the smell of lavender and old silk wafting out. Inside, a row of impeccably tailored dresses hung in stark contrast to the simple clothes I usually wore.
Tonight, I need to play a part. I need to appear composed, even grateful, for this twisted family reunion. For Lyria. With a deep breath, I began to sift through the luxurious fabrics, searching for an outfit that wouldn't scream "imposter". They may have taken me from my home, but I’m never gonna let them take away my dignity.
As the seconds tick by, the silence in the room felt deafening. I steal a glance at Luke, his face betraying a similar internal war. A flicker of understanding passes between us, a silent acknowledgment of the precarious situation we are in. This facade of normalcy, this impending dinner, feels less like a meal and more like a walk into a lion's den.
The walk to the dining room is a tense journey down a long, opulent hallway. The silence between Luke and I is heavy, punctuated only by the rhythmic click of my heels against the polished marble floor. Each ornate portrait lining the walls seems to leer down at you, silent witnesses to the storm brewing within.
Finally, a set of double doors, adorned with intricate gold leaf, appear before us. A young maid, her expression a mask of forced cheer, stands waiting. With a slight bow, she gestures towards the doors. "Prego, Signor Luca, Signora Sylvia. La cena è pronta."
Taking a deep breath, I offer Luke a small, resolute nod. Together, we step through the imposing doorway.
The vastness of the dining room takes your breath away. A massive crystal chandelier casts a warm glow over a long mahogany table that could easily seat twenty. A sea of unfamiliar faces staring back at us with varying degrees of curiosity and suspicion.
There are older women, their faces etched with years of privilege, and stern-looking men who exude an air of quiet authority. But the one thing that catches my eyes is a man, who looks exactly like Luke, same hair, same eyes, with scars on his hands and a younger woman beside him. Her blonde hair styled in a perfect cascade, catches your eye. Her emerald green dress shimmers under the chandelier's light, and a diamond necklace glints at her throat. I’m guessing this dinner is to celebrate their engagement.
The air crackles with unspoken tension as we enter. The chatter that has filled the room before our arrival dies down to a hush. All eyes are on us.
The young maid, sensing our discomfort, scurries forward. "Per di qua, per favore," she murmurs, guiding us to two empty chairs positioned at the center of the long table. "I posti per Signor Luca e Signora Sylvia."
With a silent nod of thanks towards the maid, we take our assigned seats. The silence stretches on, thick and suffocating, as everyone waits for the main event – the arrival of Mr. and Mrs. Biancchi. My heart hammers against my ribs, a frantic drumbeat against the backdrop of the oppressive atmosphere.
The couple turn their attention toward us as we sit across from them. "Luca, it's been a while." The man (clearly Luke’s twin) speaks, his voice a low rumble that echoes across the room. It's similar to Luke's, but with a depth and hardness that sends shivers down my spine.
“It has.” Luke answers in a clip tone, clearly not wanting to entertain him. “Sylvia, this is Matteo, my brother.” His voice sounds forced as he softly grips my hand as he looks at me with eyes almost watery, begging me to forgive him.
“Sylvia, congratulations on the engagement” I force myself as I shake Mattia’s hand. His grip is firm, almost too firm, and I can't help but notice the coldness in his eyes as he assesses me.
"Thank you." he says, his smile not quite reaching his eyes.
The woman beside him, who must be his fiance, extends her hand with a soft smile. "I'm Alessandra," she introduces herself. "Pleasure to meet you, Sylvia."
"Pleasure’s mine," I reply, my voice steady despite the nerves swirling inside me. I have never hated Luke more than I do right now.
My gaze darts around the room, searching for any sign of my daughter. But the table is adorned with ten exquisite place settings. Disappointment gnaws at me, but I force a smile onto my face. I need to play along, at least for now.
This dinner, a supposed celebration and family reunion for the newly engaged by a man who holds all the cards, is about to begin. The opulent setting, with its gleaming silver and crystal, couldn't mask the tension simmering beneath the surface. A tangled web of unspoken agendas hung heavy in the air. Luke and I, caught in the crossfire, we exchange a silent glance, two players thrust onto a chessboard they don't understand.
As the tension in the room reaches its peak, the double doors at the far end of the dining room swing open with a soft creak. In strides Luke's parents, accompanied by a vision of relief and joy – my daughter, Lyria, cradled in assuming Mrs. Biancchi's arms.
My heart skips a beat as I lay eyes on Lyria, safe and unharmed. A surge of emotion floods through me, threatening to overwhelm my senses. I have to remind myself to stay composed, to resist the urge to rush over and just envelop her in my arms.
Instead, I watch in silence as I’m guessing Mrs. Biancchi approaches, her steps measured and deliberate. She stops in front of us, her gaze meeting mine with a mixture of scrutiny and guarded warmth.
"Luca, Sylvia," she says in her heavy Italian accent, her voice carrying a hint of formality. "It's good to see you both."
Her words hang in the air, punctuated by the weight of unspoken tensions. But at this moment, none of that matters. All that matters is Lyria, safe and sound. With a sense of cautious hope, I extend my arms towards Mrs. Biancchi, silently asking for my daughter's return. She meets my gaze for a moment, her expression unreadable, before carefully handing Lyria over to me.
“Mommy!” Lyria declares happily as I cradle her in my arms, a wave of relief washes over me. She's safe. She's here, in my arms, and there isn't a scratch on her. Tears threaten to spill from my eyes as I press a gentle kiss to her forehead, murmuring words of love and reassurance.
