The next morning, I didn't come down for breakfast.
But Claudia Moretti did.
She came to me.
I opened the door expecting Emilia, maybe a maid with tea or an envelope from Alessandro.
Instead, there she stood…elegant, poised, and without warning.
"I thought I'd find you sulking," she said coolly, stepping inside without waiting to be invited.
I didn't answer.
She looked around the room like it was her personal exhibit. "Your taste in furnishings is still… soft."
"What do you want?"
She turned, eyes sharp. "To see if you were still breathing. After last night, I half-expected you'd packed your bags and vanished."
"I did consider it."
"I would've."
I raised a brow. "So why are you here?"
Claudia sat delicately on the edge of the chaise, crossed her legs. "Because for the first time since you married my son… you impressed me."
That silenced me.
She glanced up. "You stood your ground. You didn't cry. You didn't plead. You didn't wait for him to rescue you from the consequences of your dignity."
"That wasn't courage," I said flatly. "That was survival."
"Same thing," she replied.
I sat across from her, slowly. "You hated me."
"I didn't know you," she corrected. "And I resented the position you were in. You took a place that was meant for another. But you've made it yours. In blood, pain, and silence… you've carved yourself into this house."
I stared at her.
Waiting.
Bracing.
"You're not a wife," Claudia said. "You're a weapon. And I've underestimated you."
I blinked. "Is this… approval?"
She laughed once. "Don't flatter yourself. But I'll say this…Alessandro has made many mistakes. You might be the one he'll regret most… or the one who finally teaches him the cost of pride."
I exhaled. "You're not angry he married me anymore?"
"I'm angry he's breaking something that could've made him better."
That…hit harder than expected.
She stood.
Adjusted her clutch.
Paused at the door.
"You remind me of myself," she said, not turning around. "Before I learned the cost of loving a man who confuses silence for strength."
Then she left.
And for the first time since I married into the Moretti family…
I didn't feel like a guest in my own home.
I felt seen.
That evening, Claudia asked for dinner to be served in the winter garden.
She never asked.
She demanded.
But this time, her voice was calm.
Almost casual.
I arrived in a black silk dress, hair unpinned, no makeup. I didn't want to impress anyone. I just wanted to survive another meal where I was normally served like an afterthought.
But when I stepped into the candlelit space, I stopped cold.
Only two plates were set.
Claudia's.
And mine.
Alessandro wasn't there.
The maid offered me a seat.
Claudia poured the wine herself.
"I told him not to come," she said, sipping. "He needed to be reminded that not all legacies are built through domination."
I didn't ask why she was doing this.
I didn't trust it yet.
So I simply picked up my fork and listened.
"He was different as a child," she said, cutting into her roast. "Colder. Smarter. A storm that learned early how to look like a blue sky."
I glanced up.
"I raised him to be strong. Not soft. I thought strength would protect him. But now I see…it made him blind."
"To what?"
She met my gaze.
"You."
We ate in silence for a while.
Claudia rarely chewed quietly. But tonight, she was composed. Focused.
Every movement felt like a calculated offering.
"I used to think love was weakness," she said suddenly. "But I watched you walk off that stage last night, and I realized…real strength is loving yourself enough to stay standing after someone tries to burn you down in front of the world."
I swallowed the lump in my throat with a sip of wine.
"And Alessandro?"
Claudia looked toward the tall glass windows.
He stood outside in the garden.
Watching.
Not coming in.
Not interrupting.
Just there.
"He's afraid," she said.
I frowned. "Of what?"
"Of you becoming something he doesn't own."
I sat back slowly. "He never did."
"No," she said with a wry smile. "But he liked pretending."
We sat together until the candles began to flicker low.
And just before I stood to leave, she touched my wrist gently.
"If he breaks you again, Anastasia," she whispered, "know that this time…I will not stand behind him."
I didn't sleep that night.
I stayed by the window.
Watching the garden, where Alessandro had stood like a ghost behind glass.
He hadn't entered the room.
Not once.
But he had seen everything.
And that, somehow, felt more intimate than anything we'd shared since I first wore his name.
The next morning, I found something at my door.
A folded note.
No envelope.
No signature.
Just one line:
"I didn't know she saw you. I didn't know I didn't."
It wasn't an apology.
But it wasn't nothing.
I left it on the tray and went downstairs.
Claudia was already in the sitting room, sipping tea like the night before hadn't happened.
I nodded once.
She didn't smile.
But she set down a second cup.
A gesture that said: You are not a mistake.
And in her world, that was louder than love.
Later that day, I caught Alessandro watching me again.
From the hallway.
Through the sliver of an open door.
He said nothing.
I didn't speak either.
But when I met his eyes…
He didn't look through me.
He looked at me.
And for once, I didn't flinch.
Because his mother had reminded me:
My worth had never been his to name.
In the evening, Claudia called for Emilia.
"Set up the East study," she said.
"Will Madam be taking her usual correspondence there?" Emilia asked.
"No," Claudia replied.
"She will." And then she turned to me. "It's time you had a place in this house that belongs to you."
My throat tightened.
"Why?" I asked.
Claudia rose, smoothed her skirt, and spoke without looking back.
"Because if you're going to make him suffer, Anastasia… you should do it from a throne."