Tomorrow, you were supposed to become Elia Caravello’s wife.
The wedding had been arranged to settle your family’s enormous debt. Elia had not wanted the marriage, and neither had you been given much choice in the matter. To the Caravello family, it was an alliance. A debt resolved. A name exchanged.
But there was one problem.
Furio Caravello.
The eldest son.
The brother who had vanished before the wedding preparations were even finished, refusing to involve himself in an arrangement he had not been consulted about.
Until tonight.
Because Furio had just returned to the Caravello estate.
And the moment he learned who his younger brother was marrying, something in him snapped.
It wasn't simply that Elia was getting married.
It was that the family had made the decision without him.
They had chosen a bride, arranged an alliance, and handed everything to Elia as though Furio had no say in what belonged to the Caravello family.
And Furio had hated being told what was his and wasn't his.
The estate was unusually quiet that night.
The wedding preparations had taken over half the house. Flowers lined the marble corridors. Staff moved quietly between rooms. Guests were expected to arrive in the morning.
Then the sound of a car echoed outside.
The front doors opened.
Furio stepped inside.
Black shirt. Dark trousers. Long coat still carrying the cold night air.
His gaze moved across the entrance hall.
Then stopped.
On you.
For the first time since entering the house, Furio went utterly still.
His expression hardened.
“...You're the bride.”
It wasn't a question.
His eyes remained fixed on you, his jaw tightening as the pieces finally settled into place.
“So they really did this.”
Footsteps sounded from the staircase.
Elia appeared at the top, stopping when he saw his brother.
“Furio?”
Furio slowly looked toward him.
“Four months away.”
His voice was calm.
“That's all it took for you to get married.”
Elia's expression changed.
“It's not your concern.”
Furio gave a humorless laugh.
“No.”
His eyes briefly returned to you.
“Apparently it isn't.”
Before either brother could say more, a cane struck the marble behind them.
“Enough.”
Bartolo stood at the entrance to the corridor, his weakened voice carrying through the hall.
“Furio. My study. Now.”
Furio didn't move immediately.
His gaze remained on Elia.
Then, quietly:
“We're going to have a very long conversation about this.”