TWENTY-ONE

I knew who she was before the doors even fully opened.

Diana Morano.

I’d looked her up not long after the fake engagement went public—pure curiosity at first, maybe a little self-preservation. There weren’t many photos of her online, but the ones I did find had left an impression. A former ballerina turned political donor. Widow to Samson Morano. She hadn’t remarried. Didn’t need to. Power, for women like her, wasn’t inherited—it was embedded.

And now, standing at the top of the stairs with the house quieting beneath me, I watched as the doors opened and that exact presence stepped inside.

She was everything I expected—and somehow more. Tall, poised, dressed in a sleek black midi-dress that didn’t wrinkle or cling. Not a hair out of place. Her lipstick was wine-dark, her heels sharp, her energy the kind that said: I don’t scream. I don’t need to.

The air around her shifted the second she entered, like the house itself knew who she was.

Wesley moved forward first.

“Mother.”

No kiss. No hug. Just the word and a slight nod, formal and distant.

She tilted her head slightly, looking him over like she was sizing him up—not just physically, but emotionally. Then her eyes moved past him… to me.

“And this is?” she asked, tone light but loaded.

Wesley didn’t miss a beat. “My wife.”

Diana blinked once. Then raised an eyebrow.

“Isn’t she your rival’s wife?” Her voice held the thinnest edge of amusement. “Or did I drop into some kind of alternate dimension?”

Wesley’s jaw tightened, just slightly. “Not anymore.”

I stepped forward with a polite smile. “It’s nice to finally meet you, Mrs. Morano.”

She looked at me, not smiling back. “Is it?”

Just that.

Not rude. Not exactly. But certainly not warm.

I hesitated, then offered, “I’ve heard a lot about you.”

“I’m sure you have,” she replied smoothly.

The silence that followed stretched just long enough to be uncomfortable.

Wesley motioned for someone to take her bags, and Diana handed them over without looking away from me. I held her gaze, trying not to fidget under the weight of it.

She was beautiful. Controlled. And I knew instantly—this woman didn’t tolerate weakness. Didn’t respect softness. She’d been raised in power, married into more, and raised Wesley in her image.

And right now, she was looking at me like she was trying to figure out how I even got through the door.

Lunch was quiet in the way it often is when there’s an elephant in the room. The kind of quiet where everyone’s eating, but no one’s really tasting the food. Diana Morano sat at the head of the table, sharp and silent, while the rest of us picked at our plates, avoiding eye contact as much as we could without looking outright rude.

Wesley didn’t seem phased. He cut into his steak like he’d done this a thousand times before—like his mother’s presence was a regular part of the scenery. I wasn’t so sure. She radiated power in ways I wasn’t familiar with, not in this setting. I could feel it all the way down to my bones, the silent demand that everyone acknowledge her place in the room.

And then, just as I started to feel like I was maybe getting used to her—just as I took a bite to ease my nerves—Diana spoke.

“I’m here to settle whatever is going on between you and Brooklyn,” she said, voice crisp, even. “It’s gone on long enough.”

The words hung in the air like smoke, thick and oppressive. I swallowed my bite, barely tasting it, as the atmosphere in the room shifted. The tension felt palpable. Wesley didn’t say anything. Just sat there, calm, his gaze steady on his mother.

I should’ve known it wouldn’t be easy. Of course, it wasn’t just a friendly visit. This was a business transaction, an intervention, a family affair that none of us had been invited into.

I cleared my throat, trying to soften the moment. “If there’s anything I can do to help settle things, I—”

Diana looked at me, eyes sharp, cutting me off before I could finish. "You can start by making yourself useful, Catrina. You’ve been married into this family. You should know by now how to keep things in line."

The words stung more than I wanted to admit, but I wasn’t going to let her see that.

“The guest bedrooms are really comfortable,” I added quickly, trying to redirect the conversation before it went further south. “I hope you’ve been able to rest. You’ll be comfortable here.”

Diana didn’t blink, didn’t flinch. She merely leaned back in her chair, eyes narrowing, studying me like I was a puzzle she couldn’t quite figure out.

“I’ve been here before,” she said, deadpan. “I know what the guest rooms look like.”

The smile I had forced for the sake of politeness froze on my lips.

A beat passed. Then Diana’s gaze sharpened even further, like she was digging into something she’d just uncovered.

“Why do you know that?”

I froze, my breath catching for a split second.

I opened my mouth to respond, but the words didn’t come. I hesitated, feeling the weight of her stare pressing on me.

“I… currently sleep in one of them,” I said quietly, not meeting her eyes.

There was no response at first, but I could feel the shift—her eyes narrowing, the wheels turning in her head.

“And why aren’t you in the master bedroom with your husband?” she asked, her voice laced with quiet judgment.

I swallowed hard, feeling the heat in my chest rise. I opened my mouth again, but the words were stuck, lodged somewhere between the truth and a lie. The truth was too complicated. The lie was too easy.

Before I could even attempt to answer, Wesley spoke up, his calm voice cutting through the tension.

The silence after Diana’s question stretched so long it practically echoed.

I searched for something to say—anything. A joke, a decent excuse, a distraction. But my mouth opened and closed without sound. Nothing was landing. Nothing felt safe. The air in the room pressed down hard, like even breathing wrong might spark something.

And then Wesley cut in.

“She wanted some space,” he said simply, not even looking up from his plate. “But she’s moving back in tonight.”

My head snapped toward him.

What?

He didn’t glance at me. Didn’t give even the smallest acknowledgment that what he’d just said was a bombshell. Just calmly forked a bite of food and brought it to his mouth, as if we hadn’t all just heard what he said.

My stomach dropped, fluttered, twisted. I didn’t know which part of that statement threw me more—the fact that he’d made that decision without talking to me, or the fact that I hadn’t immediately disagreed.

Diana nodded once, satisfied, like that’s what she wanted to hear all along.

“Well,” she said coolly, “I’d certainly hope so.”

Conversation moved on around me, but I was still stuck in that moment. Still stuck on tonight. My mind was moving too fast, spiraling through all the possibilities and none of them felt neutral.

We hadn’t shared a bed since this all began. We hadn’t even come close. Sure, we danced around each other, close in the hallways, close in the bunker, in conversations that sometimes tiptoed into something else—but this was different.

Tonight, we’d be in the same room.

Same bed.

Same everything.

I didn’t know if it was just for show. If he was trying to keep up appearances for his mother, or if there was something else beneath that calm tone—something I hadn’t been prepared for.

But one thing was suddenly clear.

I was about to find out.