Her gaze slipped past me to Giorgio, as if seeking permission from the man who was supposed to be my betrothed. The gesture was small, almost imperceptible, but I caught it. I catalogued it. I filed it away with all the other evidence I had been gathering for months.
He stood there in the doorway, composed, even faintly appreciative as his eyes traced the lines of the gown against her body. "Don't make a scene," he said to me, his voice carrying the dismissive authority of a man who had already decided whose side he was on. "She's just having a bit of fun."
Then he looked at her, his tone softening in a way I had never heard directed at me. "What do you think, Silvia?"
She turned once more in front of the mirror, her smile growing bolder, more triumphant.
"It really does look good," Giorgio added quietly, stepping closer to her. "You've always been striking."
In that moment, every trace of hesitation vanished. Every doubt I had harbored about what I had seen, what I had suspected, what I had refused to believe—all of it crystallized into absolute certainty.
"Enough." I stepped forward and tore the gown from her hands.
Silvia laughed softly, a sound like breaking glass, as if she had expected this all along. As if she had wanted it. "All right, if you care that much about a piece of fabric." She stepped back leisurely, her eyes never leaving mine. "Then keep it."
I turned and left with the gown in my arms, without looking at anyone. The silk was still warm from her body, and the sensation made my skin crawl.
Behind me came their lowered laughter, intimate and conspiratorial, and Giorgio's deliberately gentle reassurance.
"She's been under a lot of pressure lately with the alliance preparations. Don't take it to heart."
That was exactly the answer I needed.
The confirmation. The proof. The final nail in the coffin of my old life.
Back in my chambers at the Ashford estate, I placed the gown in front of the fireplace. Firelight flickered across the fabric, shadows swaying like a farewell long delayed. The pearls caught the light and scattered it across the walls like fallen stars.
Low voices murmured outside the door—servants, or perhaps associates who had heard what happened at the tailor's shop. Word traveled fast in our world. Gossip was currency, and scandal was blood in the water.
"Did you see her in that dress?"
"Of course. It looked like it was made for her."