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“Unavoidable.”

“Impossible,” I finish, reaching over to grab the bottle of wine on the table. I pour some into his glass and refill mine.

“I wouldn’t mind if, in the end, it will be you,” he says, taking a sip.

Cocking his head, he smirks as if satisfied with whatever he thinks about, making me want to pick his brain apart, pry him open and reveal the mystery of why he has such a chokeholdon me. Maybe he’s a wizard who put a spell on me, making it impossible for me to resist him.

“Why?” I breathe out through the pressure on my lungs.

“You’d always remember and ask yourself what if. You’d have it worse. I’d be dead. No more thoughts, no more struggles, no more memories.”

“You give yourself too much credit. It seems to me you’re thinking we could somehow be together.”

“Mm-hmm, sure. You’ll see. I will haunt your days and nights even more.”

“Why did you come tonight?” I ask, needing to change the subject rather than delving into what-ifs. What would it be like to be free of the shackles you were born with? A life that’s more than blood, deceit, power. No wonder I feel like someone I am not when he’s near me, as if he’s speaking to a person I could have been but didn’t have the chance to become.

“Couldn’t stay away.”

I feel the truth of his words reverberating through my insides, tugging at my heartstrings as if it is his instrument—so honest, so damn in my face with what he thinks, with what he wants. It’s refreshing that I forget myself around him, allowing myself to be just a woman with her man.

“Which is idiotic. What kind of future would we have?” he says so low. It’s a mere mutter, but I’ve heard him.

I instantly freeze.

He sighs, placing me gently back on my feet. “Don’t worry, Luciana. Just thinking out loud.”

He stands up, and I watch him walk to the door. His hand reaches for the handle, and he looks at me over his shoulder. “I guess we’ll never find out. Quite a pity. You would have been the only woman I’d make the queen of my empire. My counterpart in everything.”

He’s cruel. So utterly cruel to dangle in front of me the biggest lie possible, presented as a dream. I could never be his because I signed my life over a long time ago. What he says is just a deception, a tactic to bend me to his will and make me falter and fail.

When he’s gone, I take a deep dive into nostalgia, imagining for agonizing minutes how it would have been if we were other people. We’re not though, and this is the life we’ve been dealt with. The stakes are getting higher—I can’t risk my heart.

But I’m afraid I already lost it to him.

I’ll never forget you, you strange, complex, madly captivating man.

After a sleepless night where thoughts of her kept me awake, I roll out of bed. Dragging a hand down my face, I walk toward the window.

Is she there watching me, thinking of me like I do her?

I palm the glass, and my skin warms up at the image of me touching her. It’s imprinted on my brain to the point that raw need courses through my veins.

I crave to taste, touch, and fuck her so badly. It’s all I can think about. No wonder I have been unfocused as hell.

After my morning shower, I enter my dressing room, which is filled with shirts, suits, and watches. Dressing in a black shirt and a navy suit, I slap my silver watch on and make my way downstairs to the garage. I have men posted at every entry, and as I approach my black Lamborghini, my phone vibrates in my pocket.

Plucking it out, I see a text from her that stops me in my tracks.

Any favorite flowers?

For what?

For your funeral.

Groaning low in my throat, I am about to reply when a blast hits me out of nowhere, swatting me through the air as if I am a damn fly before my back hits the cement floor hard. My head thumps against the concrete.

Disoriented, I try to figure out what the fuck happened when I see my black Lambo eaten by flames, destroyed. My men rush to me, and I push myself up, anger simmering low enough that I crack my neck, trying to get a grip on my faltering composure. Brushing at the invisible dust, I check my head and see that there’s no blood.