Chapter 164 - Nova

Chapter 164 - Nova
The moment I opened my eyes, I felt the faint ache in my limbs, the lingering looseness in my muscles, the mild dizziness that came from surrendering myself too completely the night before. Even breathing felt different—slower, deeper, as though my lungs were reluctant to resume their normal pace.
I swung my legs off the bed and sat there for a moment, feeling the wooden floor cool beneath my bare feet. The shirt I wore—Santiago’s—hung open at the collar, loose and warm with the faint scent of smoke, salt, and the unmistakable imprint of him. Too intimate, too immediate. I hadn’t meant to put it on before falling asleep. I barely remembered doing it. I barely remembered anything after collapsing into the bed and letting darkness claim me.
When I finally forced myself to stand and walk down the hallway, the house felt strangely alive. Hushed voices, footsteps, the muted clatter of plates. Something about the atmosphere felt different. Charged. As if the night had left behind more than memories—it had left a shift in the air itself.
I padded downstairs slowly, my hand gliding along the banister. Each step felt like descending into a different version of reality.
As soon as I reached the bottom, I froze.
The living room—usually dim, quiet, and occupied only by the men of this house—was filled with strangers.
Not just people, but professionals. Suits. Crisp clothes. Sharp jawlines. Men and women who looked like they lived in courtrooms, boardrooms, and behind locked doors where decisions were made with no hesitation. The kind of people who could read a room in a single glance and decide who mattered and who didn’t.
I was not prepared to stand in front of them wearing nothing but a borrowed men’s shirt that barely covered my thighs.
For a heartbeat, I simply stood there, shoulders tense, eyes scanning the crowd in confusion. They were talking amongst themselves, papers in hand, tablets open, the low hum of strategizing merging with the murmur of Italian and English interwoven. A world I had never asked to be part of, yet couldn’t seem to escape.
And then, just when my heart began to climb up my throat, something small and warm slipped into my hand.
I looked down.
Giulietta. Barefoot, hair a little wild, wearing pajamas decorated with small stars. She looked like the only untouched, uncorrupted piece of innocence in this entire home.
“Come,” she said matter-of-factly, tugging my hand with surprising confidence. “Belen made breakfast.”
Before I could even form a protest, she dragged me through the hallway toward the kitchen. I let her lead me. I always did. There was something grounding about her, something that reminded me that this house wasn’t only a den of power and iron-fisted intentions. Sometimes it contained softness. Sometimes.
The moment we entered, the warm smell of pancakes and coffee wrapped around me. Belen was standing at the stove, flipping something in the pan with the expertise of a woman capable of keeping an entire household fed during war or peace.
The contrast between the chaos of the living room and the warm domesticity of the kitchen felt almost surreal.
“What’s going on?” I asked Giulietta, reaching past the plate Belen was stacking with pancakes and instead grabbing a container of yogurt from the fridge. My appetite was selective at the best of times, and this morning all I wanted was something light and cold.
“Dad said they got good news,” she said with a shrug, as if such words carried no weight.
My spoon paused halfway to my mouth.
“Good news?” I echoed, though the words felt strange in my mouth. I couldn’t imagine what that could possibly mean. Not in this context. Not in this house. Not with the storm that had been raging around all of us for weeks.
Before I could ask anything else, a voice sliced through the kitchen doorway, one I recognized instantly—smooth, polished, and framed with an irritation she didn’t bother to hide.
“Nova?”
I turned.
Olivia stood there, wearing a tailored suit and an expression somewhere between condescension and suppressed annoyance. Her eyes flicked down my body, taking in my appearance—bare legs, oversized shirt, sleepy hair. Her lips pinched slightly, as if my existence offended her sense of order.
My own lips curled into a faint scowl before I could stop myself.
“Can you join us in the office?” she asked. She didn’t wait for agreement. Not from me.
I sighed. “Guess I am,” I murmured to Giulietta, giving her a small smile even though my stomach had tightened.
She gave me a sympathetic little wave as I followed Olivia.
The walk down the hallway felt like walking toward judgment. The closer I got, the more I regretted not taking even thirty seconds to put on actual clothes. Or run a brush through my hair. Or prepare myself mentally to face a room full of people who probably thought of me as an afterthought at best, a liability at worst.
When I stepped through the office door, the air shifted around me.
Every head turned.
The room was full—lawyers, advisors, part of Salvatore’s team, and the familiar cluster of men whose presence defined this home: Sean, Levi, James, and Santiago.
They were all watching me.
Awareness prickled across my skin. The shirt I wore suddenly felt too thin, too revealing, too intimate. I crossed my arms instinctively, but it did little to ease the vulnerability spreading through me.
Olivia stood beside Santiago, her hand resting on his arm in a way that made something dark stir low in my chest. She looked perfectly polished, composed, and ready for battle. I looked like I had just rolled out of his bed—because I had.
Santiago noticed. His eyes flicked from my legs to my face, lingering in a way that made the back of my neck warm.
Then—almost too subtle to catch—he brushed Olivia’s hand off his arm.
A silent claim.
A quiet correction.
He stepped toward me, his expression softening in a way that made the entire room shift out of focus.
“It’s almost over,” he said.
His lips curved in a small, real smile—the kind he didn’t give to many people.
My brows pulled together. “What do you mean?”
He took another step toward me. “Dad has decided to stop his case.”
For a moment, my mind couldn’t process what he was saying. The words hovered in the air, incomprehensible, like a language I hadn’t learned yet.
“Stop… his case?” I repeated.
“Yes,” he said, and this time the smile grew wider, lighting his entire face. “It’s going to end.”
I stared at him, still unable to grasp it. My stomach fluttered with confusion, hope, and fear all tangled together.
What does that mean?
Olivia swooped in before he could elaborate.
“It means the case will stop now,” she said, stepping far too close to Santiago again. Her voice was smooth, patient, but it carried the sharpness of someone who thought she was addressing a slow child.
“Why would he stop when he was winning?” I asked before I could stop myself.
The effect was immediate.
Olivia’s expression slipped—just barely—but enough that satisfaction rushed through me. She didn’t like hearing that truth. She especially didn’t like hearing it from me.
“First of all,” she said coolly, “in a case, nobody is ‘winning’ until there is a verdict.”
Her tone was a polished blade.
“But his team has informed the judge that he will no longer plead his case. So the judge will issue a verdict.”
She spoke like she was reciting a press statement, enunciating each word with practiced precision. But beneath it, I heard it—the faint crack in her composure whenever Santiago shifted his attention toward me instead of her.
“Okay,” I said, though uncertainty crept into the single word.
She turned her full body toward Santiago, practically ignoring me now.
“I told you she was stupid,” she muttered, not even bothering to soften her voice.
My jaw clenched.
“Anyway, we’ll be leaving. The team needs to prepare for the verdict.” She ran her finger down Santiago’s chest—slowly, deliberately—her voice dropping to something silkier. “Let’s get a coffee. We can catch up.”
A laugh—sharp and disbelieving—escaped me before I could swallow it.
I couldn’t stand to watch another second of her performance.
So I turned and walked out of the office.