His eyes swept over the room, starting with me, moving down to Martina, and then lingering on Rosa’s pale face.

Finally, his gaze landed on Patricia, who had stopped just two feet away from him.

“What is going on here?” my father asked.

His voice was quiet, dangerously quiet, lacking the warm tone he usually reserved for his fiancée.

“Oh, darling, it is just dreadful,” Patricia said, her voice dripping with artificial concern.

She reached out to touch his forearm, her manicured fingers brushing the expensive fabric of his sleeve.

“I tried to handle it quietly so I wouldn’t disturb your evening,” she continued, looking back at Rosa with a look of deep disappointment.

“But I caught Rosa trying to slip out with some very valuable items from the study.”

She sighed, a delicate, fluttering sound that made my stomach turn.

“When I confronted her, the girls intervened,” Patricia said, shaking her head. “They are just so young, Emiliano. They don’t understand how these people operate.”

I felt a surge of hot anger rush through my veins, but I forced myself to remain still.