Chapter 3 Chapter 3

Alessia POV:

Returning to the Rinaldi estate felt like walking into my own tomb. The sprawling mansion, once a sanctuary, was now a gilded cage-every beautiful object a testament to the lie I was living.

Before I went inside, I stopped by the security shed at the edge of the property. I retrieved a small, pre-arranged audio recorder from a hidden compartment, a contingency my father had insisted on years ago. The head of security, a hulking man named Marco, gave a respectful nod, blissfully unaware.

I placed it on the bookshelf in the living room, its lens aimed directly at the main sofa. My stage was set.

Dante came home late, smelling of whiskey and someone else's perfume. He smiled when he saw me, the same loving smile that now made my skin crawl.

"There's my beautiful wife," he murmured, pulling me into an embrace that felt like a trap. He kissed me, his lips a brand of hypocrisy on mine. His hand went to my belly, stroking the curve with a tenderness that was pure performance. I had to lock my muscles to keep from flinching.

"I brought you something," he said, returning from the kitchen moments later, a glass of warm milk in his hand. "For the baby. You need to keep your strength up."

My father's warning echoed in my mind. Act the part.

"Thank you, darling," I said, my voice sweet, as I reached for the glass.

But my hand trembled slightly, and a drop of milk spilled on his expensive suit. "Oh, I'm so sorry!" I gasped, dabbing at the spot with a napkin. "Let me get you another drink to wash that down."

It was a clumsy, pathetic distraction, but he bought it. While he was turned away, I swapped his glass with an identical one I'd prepared, filled with nothing but plain milk.

When I handed him the fresh glass of whiskey, I drank the plain milk down, making a show of how much I enjoyed it. He watched me, his eyes flat and cold.

"Good girl," he said.

I feigned a yawn. "I'm so tired. I think I'll lie down here for a bit." I curled up on the sofa, directly in the camera's line of sight, and pretended to drift off.

I didn't have to wait long. I heard the front door open softly. Elara and Enzo. They stood over me, their faces illuminated by the dim light of a single lamp, looking down at my supposedly unconscious form like I was a piece on their board.

"Look at her," Elara spat, her voice a venomous whisper. "So smug. So pathetic."

"She plays the part well," Enzo said, his gaze clinical and dismissive. "But the illusion is about to break."

Elara's smile was sharp. "At the party, the truth will come out. Her story, her standing... it will all unravel."

"Why do you hate her so much?" Enzo asked.

"She tried to take him from me," Elara hissed, her eyes fixed on my face. "She has my eyes. Every time he looked at her, he was supposed to be thinking of me. But he started to forget. She tried to make him forget what was important. Me."

The front door opened again. Dante walked in, and behind him, a strange man I'd never seen before.

"This is Frank," Enzo said casually. "A key associate. He's eager to witness the evening's events."

My blood ran cold. A witness to my ruin.

Elara leaned over me and gently brushed a stray eyelash from my cheek. "Just confirming her blissful ignorance," she explained to the stranger with a cruel smile. "As you can see, she's completely at peace. The eventual awakening will be all the more profound."

I heard the murmur of a satisfied agreement. Dante and Elara then left, leaving Enzo and the stranger alone with me.

I lay perfectly still, my breathing even, forcing every muscle in my body to remain limp as Frank leaned over me. His presence was an intrusion, his gaze heavy with cold appraisal.

"Her composure is remarkable," he murmured. "This will be a pivotal night for the Rinaldi name."

I heard him leave, followed by Enzo. The front door clicked shut. I waited, counting to five hundred in the suffocating silence before I finally allowed my eyes to open.

The footage was already uploading to a secure cloud. Evidence. My father would want to see it.

Just then, the sound of Dante's car pulling into the driveway sent a jolt of pure adrenaline through me. He walked past the living room without a glance, heading upstairs. It was my chance. I snatched his phone from where he'd left it on the coffee table. I'd seen him use it before-a hidden interface disguised as a simple calculator app. I typed in the code I'd memorized.

The screen changed. A list of encrypted chat groups appeared.

My eyes landed on one name, and the air left my lungs.

The Rinaldi Revelation.