Chapter Twelve

Chapter Twelve
Chapter Twelve: The Uninvited Guest

Elena’s POV

The following morning arrived cloaked in fog, as though the mansion itself had absorbed the heavy tension from the night before. Despite the lavish linens and silk sheets, I hadn’t slept. My eyes were raw, my thoughts louder than the echoing silence in the DeLuca estate. Every word spoken by Don Vittorio and my father replayed in my mind like a cursed lullaby.

My feet found the cold marble floor, and I wandered through the dim corridors in my robe. The entire estate felt alien, like I was trespassing in a life that had been chosen for me—stolen from someone else. Someone like Isabella, who had once belonged here.

The air in the grand dining hall was unusually tense when I stepped in. Lorenzo was already seated at the head of the table, skimming through messages on his phone, emotionless as ever.

He didn’t even glance up. “You’re late.”

That was all he said. No “Good morning,” no acknowledgment of last night’s events, no concern for the wounds etched into my heart.

I took my seat across from him, forcing myself to eat even though I had no appetite.

“Anything important?” I asked quietly, gesturing to his phone, hoping to crack the ice wall between us.

“No,” he replied curtly. “Just business.”

“Doesn’t business include the fact that your home was nearly infiltrated by the Morettis because of Isabella?”

He looked up at me then, his gaze sharp. “Don’t start.”

“Start what?” I asked, swallowing the bitter taste in my throat. “Caring about our safety? About your family? About—”

“About a sister who endangered our lives?” he cut in, his tone lethal. “Or a wife who wasn’t supposed to be part of this life at all?”

The words sliced me open. He had just reminded me of my substitute status again. His wife by accident. A duty. Not a partner.

Before I could reply, the butler entered the hall. “Sir, Miss Giuliana has arrived.”

I frowned. “Who?”

Lorenzo stood. “She’s an old friend.”

The door opened, and in walked a tall woman, elegant in a cream coat and stilettos that clicked against the marble with every step. Her hair was jet black, swept into a perfect chignon, and her crimson lips curled into a smile as her eyes found Lorenzo.

“Lorenzo!” she chirped, wrapping her arms around him without hesitation. He embraced her with familiarity—too much familiarity.

I rose to my feet slowly, my stomach tight.

“Elena, this is Giuliana Moretti,” Lorenzo said. “My childhood friend.”

Moretti.

The name struck me like a slap. “Moretti?” I repeated. “As in the rival family that’s threatening to start a war?”

Giuliana’s smile didn’t falter. “Yes, but my branch of the family has always been neutral. I left years ago, pursued art and fashion in Milan. I’m not part of their business. I’m here purely as a friend.”

She held out her hand, but I hesitated before shaking it.

“How convenient,” I murmured under my breath.

Lorenzo shot me a warning look. “Enough.”

“I’m just surprised you didn’t mention her earlier,” I said, keeping my tone cool. “Considering how often you remind me to be cautious of the Morettis.”

Giuliana laughed softly. “Lorenzo always did enjoy compartmentalizing.”

Lorenzo didn’t deny it. He offered her a seat right beside him, and as they sat, they slipped into a seamless rhythm, talking about shared childhood memories, summers at the DeLuca villa, and old family vacations.

I sat in stunned silence, completely excluded from the conversation.

He smiled more in that hour than he had in all the weeks we’d been married.

Later That Night

The rest of the day passed with Giuliana becoming an unannounced but permanent fixture in our lives. She followed Lorenzo everywhere: the estate’s armory, the strategy room, even into the private library I had once claimed as a quiet refuge. I could feel her presence eating away at my space—at our space.

That night, I sat alone in the garden. My heart was heavy with doubt, my fingers numb from the cold.

“Elena?”

I turned, startled. Sophia stood behind me, concern etched into her gentle face.

“You’ve been out here for a while,” she said softly.

“I needed air.”

She sat beside me. “I know how it must feel… with Giuliana here.”

“I just… I don’t know where I stand anymore, Sophia,” I admitted, the vulnerability catching in my throat. “He won’t even look at me unless it’s to scold me. And now she’s here. She knows his secrets, his past, his preferences. And me? I’m just the substitute.”

Sophia took my hand. “I know my brother. He’s cold, yes. He’s guarded. But that doesn’t mean he doesn’t see you.”

“Well, he’s doing a great job pretending I don’t exist,” I said bitterly. “And her? She’s too perfect. She walks in here like she owns the place. And he lets her.”

“She may know his past,” Sophia said gently, “but you’re part of his future. He just doesn’t know how to let go of the past yet.”

Her words warmed a small part of my heart. But they didn’t erase the storm that was brewing.

The next morning, Giuliana joined us for breakfast again. But this time, she wasn’t alone.

“Hope you don’t mind,” she said casually, slipping off her jacket, revealing a delicate silk blouse. “I’ve invited some old family friends for a small luncheon in the west wing. I thought it’d be good to revive the old ties.”

Lorenzo raised a brow but didn’t object. “Just keep it contained.”

Contained? She was inviting her circle into our home—our home. And he let her.

When I tried to speak up, Lorenzo dismissed me.

“Elena, don’t make this bigger than it is.”

The words stung more than they should have. I clenched my fists under the table.

Later, I found Giuliana alone in the hall. She was admiring a portrait hanging on the wall, a DeLuca heirloom.

“You seem quite at home,” I said coolly.

She turned, smirking. “I have always been.”

“You don’t belong here anymore, Giuliana. This isn’t your childhood playground.”

She stepped closer. “No, it’s not. But you should understand something, Elena. People like Lorenzo don’t form new bonds easily. His loyalty lies in memory, in blood.”

“And yet he married me.”

“Out of duty. Not choice.”

Her words sliced through me like ice.

“You’re shaking, Elena,” she whispered. “Be careful. This world isn’t kind to fragile women.”

I stepped back, my jaw trembling.

“You may have known the old Lorenzo,” I said, voice trembling. “But I’m the woman beside the new one. And I won’t let you tear that down.”

She smirked. “We’ll see.”

Later that night, I stormed into Lorenzo’s office, slamming the door behind me.

“I want her gone.”

He looked up from his desk, calmly sipping from a tumbler of whiskey. “Who?”

“You know who.”

“Giuliana isn’t a threat.”

“She’s infiltrating our home. Our marriage. And you don’t care.”

He set the glass down. “You’re being paranoid.”

I marched up to him. “No, I’m being your wife. And I’m tired of being invisible.”

His expression darkened. “You’re not invisible.”

“Then why do you treat me like a ghost?” I demanded. “You defend her. You entertain her. You laugh with her. And I get what? Cold shoulders and empty silences?”

He stood, his voice low. “Because she never tried to change me. She accepted the life I live.”

My breath caught. “And I don’t?”

“You resent it.”

“Yes,” I admitted, tears forming. “Because it took away everything I loved. But I never resented you.”

He looked away, conflicted.

“I’m not Isabella, and I’m not Giuliana. I’m Elena. And I need to know—what am I to you?”

He was silent.

My heart cracked.

“I see,” I whispered.

And I walked away.