Ira’s POV

I barely heard the footsteps before the door burst open.

He didn’t knock.

Didn’t pause.

Luca stormed into the servant’s quarters like a hurricane wrapped in silence, and the second I saw his eyes — cold, sharp, terrifying — I knew he wasn’t here to talk.

I stood up too fast, knocking over the stool I’d been sitting on. My heart thudded like a drum in my throat.

He slammed the door shut behind him, and the sound made me flinch.

“You think you’re brave now?” His voice was low, bitter. “Is that what yesterday was?”

I didn’t answer.

I couldn’t.

He took two steps closer.

“You looked me in the eyes.” The words spat from his mouth like venom. “Like you forgot who the hell I am.”

My knees trembled.

“I didn’t mean—”

“Don’t speak unless I ask you to.”

My mouth clamped shut. My hands curled at my sides.

Luca circled me like I was prey.

“You walk through this house like you own your shadow,” he hissed. “Like you earned the right to look, to breathe, to laugh.”

I blinked hard, fighting the sting in my eyes.

“I didn’t laugh at you—”

“No. You laughed at someone else.” His tone dropped dangerously. “That’s worse.”

He stopped right in front of me. I could smell the faint leather and smoke on his shirt. His stare was suffocating.

“You think you’re different?” he said. “You think your pretty face gives you power here?”

I didn’t answer.

“Let me tell you what you are.” He leaned in close, voice like ice.

“You’re a stray I allowed into my home. You’re a convenience. A maid. Una serva. And the only reason you’re still standing is because I haven’t gotten tired of you yet.”

The words cracked something in me.

They shouldn’t have.

But they did.

I felt the heat rise in my face. The pressure behind my eyes. He saw it.

And he smiled.

“You’re nothing, Ira.” He said my name like it disgusted him. “So stop pretending you’re someone.”

I clenched my fists.

And before I could stop myself, I whispered—

“What did you do to Matteo?”

The temperature in the room dropped.

The air turned sharp.

Luca stilled.

Then, slowly, he reached forward and gripped my hair, dragging my head back until my neck arched painfully. His face hovered inches from mine.

“Careful.”

His voice was quiet now. Dangerous.

“You don’t speak that name in front of me.”

I winced, but didn’t cry. Not yet.

“Did you hurt him?” I forced the words out, even as his hand twisted deeper into my scalp.

His expression darkened.

“I punished disobedience.”

He yanked my head back further, and I gasped. “Would you like to follow?”

I shook my head, tears pooling at the corners of my eyes.

“Then don’t test me again,” he growled. “Next time, you won’t walk away with just words.”

He released me roughly, and I stumbled backward, catching myself against the table. My legs were weak, but I didn’t fall.

He walked to the door, paused, and looked back at me one last time.

“Fix your face. You look pathetic.”

Then he left.

The door slammed shut behind him.

And for the first time since I entered

this house, I let a tear fall.

Not from pain.

From the hollow he carved inside me with just his words.