Fractured Facades

In frustration, Leona's voice cut through the tense silence like a blade.

"You know what's funny?" she said, her tone colder than anyone had ever heard from her. "It's been a month — a whole damn month — and not one of you has asked Alessia what actually happened that night."

Everyone turned to her, stunned.

"You're all so busy playing bodyguard, whispering about security and Vesper and who's next — but no one thought to ask the one person who might have seen something?" Her gaze locked onto Valerio. "How long were you planning to just stand around waiting for answers to magically appear?"

Her eyes shifted to Mr. Moretti. "You've been storming around for weeks, furious that Alessia's pregnant, but you never once thought to ask what happened that night — what really happened."

"Maybe you're all too scared of what she might say," Leona finished, her voice sharp and unwavering. "But I'm done pretending this is normal."

Leona sat beside Alessia on the edge of the couch, her fingers fidgeting with the loose thread on her sleeve. Her voice, unusually quiet, broke the silence.

"I get it," Leona began, her tone softer than her earlier outburst. "If you don't want to go over every detail of that night — how you got hurt… how that man ended up dead — I get it. Maybe you're still trying to make sense of it yourself."

Alessia kept her gaze down, hands resting on her stomach protectively.

"But what I don't get," Leona continued, her voice rising slightly, "is how you've said nothing about the father of the baby."

Alessia's fingers tightened against her shirt.

"I mean… you're carrying someone's child, Alessia," Leona pressed, her confusion slipping into frustration. "Yet somehow, you're acting like that part doesn't even matter. Like… like he's just gone."

Alessia's face remained still, but her eyes flickered with something — fear, guilt, or maybe both.

"I'm not pushing you," Leona added quickly, her voice softening again. "I just… I just want to know you're not going through this alone."

For a moment, there was nothing but the faint ticking of the clock on the wall. Then Alessia whispered, "Some things… are better left unsaid."

Leona's heart twisted. "Not this time," she thought.

Leona stood in front of Valerio, her eyes sharp and unwavering. Her usual warmth was gone, replaced by a rare intensity that made even Valerio — the ever-composed Moretti heir — falter.

"Vesper never misses," Leona said firmly, her voice cutting through the tension like a blade. "And Alessia? She wasn't hurt by a knife. All those bruises… they weren't from some precise attack — they were from physical abuse. Nothing about that night matches Vesper's style, yet all of you — even the reporters — just ran with that story because it was easier to blame him."

Valerio clenched his jaw, but Leona didn't stop. She took a step closer, her gaze boring into his.

"None of you even tried to look into the scene," she pressed. "Not once did you stop and ask — who actually helped her out that night? Who kept her alive?"

Her voice cracked slightly, but she didn't back down. "You're all so focused on Vesper that you've ignored the fact that someone was there — someone who stopped things from getting worse. And you don't even want to know who that was?"

Valerio's face darkened, frustration mixing with the uncomfortable truth in her words.

"You can't just assume the worst because it's easier," Leona added, softer now. "Especially when the truth could be something none of us are ready for."

Leona let out a bitter chuckle, shaking her head as her eyes locked onto Valerio's.

"You know," she said quietly, almost to herself, "everyone I've ever met in my life has called me naïve — too trusting, too soft, too clueless to see things for what they are." Her gaze hardened. "But somehow, I'm the only one actually thinking straight right now."

The tension in the room hung thick like smoke, choking the air. Leona stood still, her chest rising and falling heavily from her outburst. The weight of her own words was just starting to settle in when Dante, standing off to the side, let out a low whistle.

"Whoa…" Dante muttered, eyes wide. "What was that?"

Leona blinked, turning toward him. "What was what?"

Dante gestured vaguely in her direction. "That whole… speech! I've never heard you talk like that before. You just—" He shook his head, half amused, half shocked. "You practically tore into Valerio like you were about to start flipping tables."

Leona stiffened, her fingers curling into her palm. "I didn't—" she stopped, her voice faltering. Had she really been that harsh?

"You were… intense," Dante added, this time more serious. "Not like you at all."

The realization hit her like a slap. What have I done?

Her breath hitched as memories flickered back — her sharp words, her cold tone, the frustration she had bottled up spilling out like venom. She was always the cheerful one, the one who joked, smiled, and kept the mood light. But tonight? Tonight, she had sounded… angry. Bitter.

"I—I didn't mean it like that," she stammered, her voice softer now. She glanced back at Valerio, who hadn't moved an inch. He was just staring at her — not with anger, but something else. Something more cautious, like he was trying to figure her out.

"You okay?" Dante asked, stepping closer.

"I'm fine," Leona muttered, but her voice betrayed her. She wasn't fine. She felt exposed, like she'd stripped away the mask she had carefully built for herself — the smile, the playful banter, the endless jokes.

Her fingers twitched, and she crossed her arms tightly, as if holding herself together. "I just… I'm just tired," she lied.

"You sure?" Dante pressed, his usually teasing tone replaced with concern.

Leona forced a smile, but it didn't quite reach her eyes. "Yeah… yeah, I'm good."

But as she turned away, her mind screamed the truth — You're slipping, Leona. You're slipping, and they're starting to notice.

Guilt clawed at Leona's chest, a sharp ache that refused to fade. The memory of her outburst — the anger in her voice, the frustration she had unleashed — weighed heavy on her mind. I shouldn't have snapped… I'm no better than them, she thought bitterly. Unable to face anyone, she hurried back to her room, shutting the door behind her with shaky hands. She slid down against it, hugging her knees tightly, feeling like her own worst enemy.

Leona's breathing grew shallow as she hurried down the hallway, her steps uneven and her pulse racing. The air felt heavy, suffocating, as though the walls were closing in. She wrapped her arms around herself, her nails digging into her skin, trying to ground herself.

Don't cry. Don't cry here.

But her body betrayed her. A tremble started in her fingers, spreading like wildfire through her limbs. She couldn't stop it — her shoulders quaked, her knees felt weak, and her chest burned as she struggled to breathe.

Get it together, Leona.

She stumbled into an empty sitting room and shut the door behind her, leaning against it for support. The wood was cool against her back, but it didn't help. Her heart pounded louder than her thoughts, drowning everything else out.

Not again… please, not again.

But the memories came anyway, sharp and merciless.

Flashback: Cracks in the Glass

"You think you can talk back to me?" her foster father's voice thundered, followed by the sound of something shattering. Leona flinched, her fists clenched tightly at her sides.

"You're always fighting!" she had screamed back, voice shaking with anger and fear. "I can't stand either of you!"

Her foster mother's voice had cut in, shrill and cold. "Maybe if you weren't so useless, we wouldn't have to fight!"

Leona remembered the heat rising in her face, her body practically vibrating with rage. She had yelled again — something cruel, something she regretted the second it left her mouth. The next thing she knew, her foster father's hand had slammed against the table, making her jump.

"Get out of my sight," he had spat. "Before I really lose my temper."

That was how it always ended — a storm of anger that left her trembling in her room, hugging her pillow to her chest like a lifeline. And the worst part wasn't even the shouting — it was the fact that, over time, she started yelling back. Started fighting the same way they did. Becoming… them.

She hated it. Hated how her voice could turn sharp, how her temper flared so easily. How she'd just done it again… this time with Valerio.

The memory faded, but the feeling lingered — that cold, sinking weight in her chest. Her breathing stuttered, sharp and ragged. She slid down the door, curling into herself, her forehead pressing against her knees.

I'm just like them… I'm no different…

Tears blurred her vision, but she squeezed her eyes shut, refusing to let them fall. Crying wouldn't fix anything. It never did.

Her breath caught again, faster this time, shallow and desperate. Each inhale felt like she wasn't getting enough air, her lungs screaming for more. Her fingers dug harder into her arms, but she couldn't stop the way her body shook.

Breathe, just breathe…

But she couldn't. The panic clawed at her throat, making her chest tighten until she felt like she was drowning.

Then — footsteps.

Soft, steady footsteps down the hallway.

"Leona?"

Valerio's voice.

Her breath hitched. She wiped at her face with the sleeve of her shirt, dragging her fingers under her eyes as if she could erase the redness and panic from her face. She couldn't let him see her like this.

The door creaked as Valerio pushed it open. His gaze landed on her, slumped on the floor with her arms wrapped tightly around herself.

"Leona," he repeated, softer this time.

"I'm fine," she blurted out. Her voice wobbled, barely above a whisper. "I just needed… needed some air."

"You're not fine." He knelt down beside her, his eyes scanning her face. "What happened?"

"Nothing." She shook her head violently. "I just… I got overwhelmed. That's all."

"You're shaking," Valerio pointed out. His hand hovered just above her arm, hesitant. "You're having a panic attack, aren't you?"

"No," she whispered, but her voice betrayed her. She couldn't hide the way her breath kept catching, or how her fingers clenched like she was afraid to let go.

"You don't have to lie," Valerio said quietly.

His hand finally rested on her arm — warm, steady, grounding. The pressure was gentle, yet firm enough to keep her from spiraling further.

"Breathe with me," he murmured. "Slowly… in… out…"

Leona tried to match his breathing, but her chest still hitched, her breath uneven.

"It's okay," Valerio said softly. "You're okay."

The steadiness in his voice anchored her, pulling her back from the edge. She focused on his hand on her arm, the rhythm of his breathing. Little by little, the tightness in her chest loosened. When her breathing finally slowed, her whole body felt heavy — like all the strength had been drained from her limbs. She let out a shaky breath, feeling utterly drained.

"I'm sorry," she muttered. "I didn't mean to… to freak out."

"You don't have to apologize," Valerio said. "Ever."

For a long moment, neither of them spoke. The silence wasn't awkward — just… quiet. Calm.

"I hate this," Leona whispered, barely able to voice the words. "I hate losing control like this… like I'm still stuck there."

"You're not," Valerio said firmly. "You're not there anymore."

"I yelled at you," she said, voice breaking. "I… I was just like them."

"You're nothing like them," Valerio cut in, sharper this time. "You're kind… and strong… and you're not afraid to stand up for what's right. Don't ever compare yourself to people who hurt you."

Leona swallowed hard. "I just… I don't want to become someone I hate."

"You won't," Valerio said quietly. "Because you're you — and that's more than enough."

Her eyes stung again, but this time she let the tears fall. She felt Valerio shift closer, his arm wrapping gently around her shoulders. For once, she didn't push him away. Instead, she leaned into him, resting her head against his shoulder. And for the first time in a long while, she let herself feel… safe.