Chapter 2

Analia was escorted into the main drawing room of the Dorsey estate. The air was thick with the scent of white lilies, a funereal sweetness that clogged her throat. A towering portrait of Auguste Dorsey Sr. hung above the marble fireplace, his kind eyes seeming to watch the grim proceedings with silent disapproval.

Georgianna Dorsey, Alessandro's mother, was seated on a velvet sofa. She was dressed in a severe black dress, her posture ramrod straight, her grief a weapon she wielded with practiced ease.

When she saw Analia, her eyes, the same cold blue as her son's, narrowed with undisguised hatred.

"You," she spat, rising to her feet. "How dare you show your face in this house."

Analia flinched but stood her ground. "Georgianna, I-"

"You are the reason my husband's father is dead," she cut in, her voice rising with theatrical sorrow. "Your greed. Your ambition. You hounded him to his grave."

"That's not true," Analia said, her voice trembling. "I loved him."

Georgianna let out a short, sharp laugh that held no humor. "You loved what he could give you." She paused, letting the accusation hang in the air before delivering the next blow. "Speaking of which, where is it?"

Analia stared at her, confused. "Where is what?"

"Don't play dumb with me," Georgianna snapped. "Auguste's pocket watch. The gold Victorian one he never took off. It's missing."

Analia's mind went blank. A pocket watch? She had no memory of Auguste ever wearing one. "I... I don't know what you're talking about. I've never seen it."

"Liar!" Georgianna's voice was a whip crack. "That watch was his grandfather's. It's a priceless family heirloom, passed down for generations. He cherished it more than anything. You must have taken it when you were shouting at him, you greedy little thief!"

The accusation was so outlandish, so venomous, that Analia was momentarily speechless. A thief. Now she was a thief.

She looked past her mother-in-law, her eyes desperately seeking out her husband. Alessandro stood near the window, his back partially turned, a silent observer to his wife's vivisection.

"Alessandro," she pleaded, taking a step toward him. The sound of his name felt foreign on her tongue. "Tell her. Tell her it's not true."

She reached for his arm, her fingers brushing against the fine wool of his suit. "Alessandro, please. We've been married for four years. You know me. You know I would never do something like this."

He turned his head slowly, his gaze finally meeting hers. It was full of a cold, weary disgust that shattered the last of her hope.

He gently, deliberately, removed her hand from his arm.

"I thought I knew you," he said, his voice flat and empty. "Now, I see I never knew you at all."

Each word was a shard of ice piercing her heart. It was over. Whatever they had, whatever he had felt for her, was gone, replaced by this chilling contempt.

Georgianna watched the exchange with a flicker of triumph in her eyes. "I've already notified the authorities," she added, her tone dripping with satisfaction. "They will be conducting a full investigation into the theft."

Analia felt the trap closing around her. They weren't just pushing her out; they were burying her under a mountain of lies, ensuring she could never climb her way back.

She looked from the smug face of his mother to the closed-off expression of her husband. The last embers of love in her heart died, turning to cold, hard ash.

As if on cue, Alessandro pulled out his phone. He didn't even bother to leave the room. He dialed, and his voice was crisp, efficient, the voice of a CEO dismantling a failed asset.

"Julian," he said, "freeze all of Analia Morris's offshore accounts and personal trusts. Effective immediately."

Analia stared at him in disbelief. Those accounts were all she had left. Money her own parents had left for her, her only safety net in a world that was rapidly crumbling.

He was cutting her last lifeline. He was leaving her with nothing.

A small, cruel smile touched Georgianna's lips.

Analia straightened her back. The tears that had threatened to fall evaporated, replaced by a sudden, glacial calm. She met Alessandro's gaze, and for the first time, her eyes were as cold as his.

"You're going to regret this," she said, her voice quiet but steady.

He let out a humorless scoff. "I doubt it."

He turned to his mother. "It's handled. I have to get back to the office."

He walked past Analia as if she were a piece of furniture, the scent of his expensive cologne a ghostly insult. He didn't look at her, didn't acknowledge her existence.

The heavy front door closed behind him, the sound sealing her fate.

She was alone in the room with Georgianna. The older woman looked her up and down, a predator admiring her kill.

"You see, my dear," Georgianna said softly, savoring her victory. "In the end, blood always wins."

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