It had been two weeks since Soren had confronted his parents, and though no words had passed since that morning, the air in the Bellandi mansion still vibrated with the remnants of tension.

Every glance between father and son carried weight, subtle yet undeniable. A simple tilt of the head, a narrowing of the eyes, or the barely perceptible stiffening of shoulders—it was as if the room itself remembered the storm and refused to forget. Yet, outwardly, everything seemed normal. Meals were ...