Sofia's POV:

They'd left me in this cold, empty room long enough to stew—or so they thought. The chair they'd tied me to was hard, my wrists rubbed raw from the tight bindings, but I wasn't about to let discomfort bother me. 

No, I thrived in chaos. 

Antonio didn't understand that. He thought leaving me here, isolated and powerless, would break me, make me more pliable. But he was wrong.

The room was silent, save for the faint creak of wood whenever I shifted. My mind wasn't on my discomfort, though. It was on him. Antonio Bianchi. Always so righteous, so convinced of his control. He thought himself untouchable, the master of every game. But Antonio had weaknesses—cracks in his foundation that someone like me could easily slip into. Isabella had been one of those cracks, and now that she was gone, I intended to widen the rest until everything around him came crumbling down.

The door creaked open, and I kept my gaze lowered, feigning weariness. His steps were heavy and deliberate as he entered, the faint scent of his cologne cutting through the stale air. I waited until he stood directly in front of me before I raised my head, letting my lips curve into a slow smirk.

The room felt like it was closing in around us, the air thick with tension and fury. Antonio towered over me, his hands braced against the arms of the chair I was tied to, his face inches from mine. His jaw was tight, the muscles flexing with barely restrained rage, and his dark eyes burned with a mix of fury and desperation.

Good. He was breaking. I could see it in the way his lips pressed into a thin line, in the way his breath hitched every time I opened my mouth. Antonio Bianchi, always so in control, was unraveling. And I was the one pulling the strings.

"Don't test me, Sofia," he growled, his voice low and dangerous. "I've had enough of your games. Just admit it—admit what you did to Isabella."

I tilted my head, letting my lips curl into a slow, mocking smile. "Admit what, Antonio? That I'm the villain in your little tragedy? That I killed your precious Isabella?" I let out a soft, derisive laugh. "Oh, you give me far too much credit."

His grip on the chair tightened, the wood creaking beneath his fingers. "I saw the tape," he spat, his voice sharp and biting. "I saw you kill her. Don't insult me by pretending otherwise."

I leaned forward as much as my bindings would allow, my voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "And did you really see me, Antonio? Or did you just see what someone wanted you to see?"

That made him hesitate, the flicker of doubt crossing his face as he pulled back slightly. I watched the conflict in his eyes, the way he warred with himself, trying to reconcile what he thought he knew with the nagging sense that something wasn't adding up.

"Stop trying to twist this around," he said finally, though his voice had lost some of its edge. "The message was clear—'Sofia killed Isabella.' You left your signature for me to find. Why?"

I chuckled, low and mocking, letting the sound echo in the small room. "My signature? Antonio, darling, do you really think I'd be so obvious? If I wanted to kill Isabella, you'd never even know it was me."

His jaw tightened, but the crack in his armor was widening.

"Think about it," I continued, my tone soft and taunting. "That tape... the blood, the knife, the message—it's all so perfectly designed to make you angry, to make you come after me. Doesn't that strike you as a little too convenient?"

He narrowed his eyes, stepping closer again. "Then who did it?"

I shrugged as much as the ropes binding me would allow. "Now that's the real question, isn't it? Who wants you to think I killed her? Who benefits from planting that little seed in your mind? Because let's be honest, Antonio, you've always been predictable. Easy to manipulate when your emotions get the better of you."

His hands slammed down on the arms of the chair, his face inches from mine again. "If you're innocent, tell me who's behind this. Tell me what you know."

I met his gaze, unflinching, and let the silence stretch between us, letting the weight of his frustration hang in the air. Then I leaned forward, lowering my voice to a whisper. "What if it's not about me? What if it's about you?"

His brow furrowed, confusion flickering across his face. "What are you talking about?"

I smirked, letting my words drip with venom. "You're so focused on Isabella, so consumed with your grief and your rage, that you're missing the bigger picture. Someone wants you off your game, Antonio. Someone wants you broken, distracted, and vulnerable. And what better way to do that than to make you think the woman you love is dead—by my hand, no less?"

His fists clenched at his sides, and I could see the battle raging inside him, the part of him that wanted to believe me warring with the part that wanted to crush me for what he thought I'd done.

"You're lying," he said finally, though his voice lacked conviction.

I laughed softly, the sound full of mockery. "Am I? Think about it, Antonio. If I really killed Isabella, do you think I'd be stupid enough to leave a trail for you to follow? Please. Give me some credit."

He stared at me, his breathing uneven, his knuckles white as he gripped the arms of the chair. I could see the doubt creeping in, the cracks in his resolve widening with every word I spoke.

"Face it," I said, my voice low and taunting. "You don't know what to believe anymore. And that's exactly what they wanted."

His hands shot out, grabbing me by the chin and forcing me to look into his eyes. "You're playing with fire, Sofia," he snarled, his voice barely more than a whisper. "If you had anything to do with this—anything at all—I will make you pay."

I met his gaze, unflinching, and let a slow smile spread across my lips. "Then you'd better hope I'm guilty, Antonio," I said softly. "Because if I'm not, that means someone else out there is playing you like a puppet. And from where I'm sitting, it looks like they're doing a damn good job."

For a moment, he didn't move, his grip on my chin tightening as his breathing grew heavier. Then he released me, stepping back as if he couldn't stand to be near me any longer.

"You can hurt me all you want," I added, my voice light and mocking. "But it won't bring her back. And it won't get you the answers you're looking for."

He turned away, his shoulders tense, and I knew I'd done it. I'd planted the seed of doubt, twisted the knife just enough to make him question everything he thought he knew.

As he stormed out of the room, slamming the door behind him, I let out a soft chuckle. Antonio Bianchi thought he was in control, thought he could break me with his anger and his threats.

But he had no idea what kind of game he was playing.

And I was just getting started.

I love how everyone is manipulating each other !