My sudden enthusiasm caught both Damian and Clara off guard.

Ignoring their stunned expressions, I continued cheerfully, “Damian’s right, you should take good care of yourself. Besides, having another person in the house will liven things up. It gets lonely here by myself.”

I then changed the subject, clapping my hands as if I’d just had a brilliant idea.

“Speaking of which, it’s about to get a lot livelier around here!”

Damian’s brow furrowed. “What do you mean?”

I gestured towards the manor’s entrance. “Marco has been busy with some… business upgrades. His villa is under renovation, and it’s a mess of dust and noise. I couldn’t stand the thought of him staying in a hotel, so I’ve invited him to stay with us for a while.”

Just as I finished speaking, the doorbell rang.

I pressed the remote to open the gate, and in walked Marco Verratti, coolly pulling a silver suitcase behind him.

He was dressed in a tailored Italian casual suit. Seeing the scene in the living room, he feigned surprise and raised an eyebrow.

“Well, look at this. Everyone’s here,” he said, winking at me before turning his gaze to Damian, whose face had turned as black as thunder. “Damian, I hope you don’t mind me crashing here for a bit.”

The air in the living room turned to ice.

Clara’s smile was frozen on her face, and Damian looked like he had just swallowed a bullet.

Hehe. Now the fun begins.

The war between the four of us began on the very first morning, in the kitchen.

Clara was up at the crack of dawn, wearing a pink apron, serving Damian a bowl of meticulously prepared Minestrone soup like a devoted little bird.

“Damian, try this. It’s my mother’s recipe. I simmered it all night,” she cooed. “I just don’t know if it’s to Serafina’s taste. She seems to wake up rather late.”

I acted as if I hadn’t heard the jab in her voice and walked straight to the stove, taking four eggs and some bacon from the fridge.

Damian frowned, his tone laced with a command. “Clara made you breakfast. Sit down and eat.”

I ignored him, turned on the heat, and poured olive oil into a pan.

A sizzle filled the air, the rich aroma of bacon and butter instantly overpowering her bland vegetable soup.

I expertly fried four perfect sunny-side-up eggs.

I placed two on my plate next to a pile of crispy bacon, and the other two on a separate plate.

A vein throbbed in Damian’s temple. He gritted his teeth. “Serafina, do you have to be like this?”

“Like what?” I poked a yolk with my fork, watching the golden liquid ooze out.

I took a slow, deliberate bite before looking up at him with an innocent smile. “You have your sister’s breakfast made with love, and I have my protein. Oh, and by the way,” I pointed to the other plate, “this is for Marco. He’s training me with heavy weights later. We’ll need the energy.”

I picked up both plates and, without another glance at them, walked into the manor’s gym.

Marco was already there, having just finished his warm-up. A thin layer of sweat glistened on his bronzed skin, the air thick with his masculine scent.

“Your fuel,” I said, handing him the plate.

He took it and started eating without ceremony.

An hour later, a grim-faced Damian appeared at the gym door.

He had probably come to confront me, but the scene before him rooted him to the spot.

I was struggling through my last set of weighted squats, my energy nearly gone.

Marco stood right behind me, his shirt off, sweat trickling down his chiseled abs.

His hands were firmly on my waist, his warm palms pressed against the thin, sweat-soaked fabric of my sports bra.

“I can’t… I can’t get up…” I panted.

“Don’t give up,” Marco’s voice was a low, magnetic rumble next to my ear. “Feel your glutes engage. That’s it… I’ve got you. Don’t be afraid.”

His chest was almost completely pressed against my back, rising and falling with my movements. The position was so intimate, it looked like he was holding me in a full embrace.

From Damian’s perspective, it was as if he had me wrapped entirely in his arms.

CRACK!

Damian couldn’t take it anymore. He slammed his fist into the doorframe.

Marco and I both turned. My face was flushed from the workout, while Marco slowly straightened up, wiping his chest with a towel and shooting Damian a defiant look.

“Damian, what’s with the temper so early in the morning?”

Damian’s eyes were murderous. He stared at the damp handprints Marco had left on my waist, his Adam's apple bobbing, but he couldn’t say a single word.

What could he say?

That we were being indecent? He had his dear sister sitting in the dining room.

That our position was inappropriate? Just last night, he was personally massaging Clara’s sprained ankle.

I watched his face twist with rage he was forced to suppress, and the bitterness in my heart finally started to fade.