𝒎𝒂𝒓𝒊𝒐𝒏𝒆𝒕𝒕𝒆. 𝖺𝗅𝗂𝖼𝖾 𝖼𝗎𝗅𝗅𝖾𝗇

The biting wind whipped through the grand Montclair estate, carrying with it the scent of impending rain and a chill that mirrored the one in Avianna’s heart. Rain lashed against the tall, arched windows of her private study, each drop a percussive beat against the silence that had long been her only companion.

She traced the intricate patterns on the antique globe, her finger lingering over Volterra, a city she knew only through hushed whispers and her father's fleeting, unsettling smiles. The weight of her upcoming marriage to Felipe felt like a physical chain, binding her to a fate she never desired, orchestrated by a man who saw her as nothing more than a pawn in his endless pursuit of power.

Outside, the storm intensified, mirroring the tempest within her. A shiver, not from the cold, ran down her spine. The air felt heavy with unspoken truths, and a sense of foreboding clung to her like a shroud. She yearned for escape, for a life where she could breathe freely, away from the gilded cage and the suffocating expectations of her name.