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And I want to hold on to all of it.

Because after this… I don’t know if I’ll ever feel it again.

Matteo grabs my hips and lifts himself so he can take control of the pace. He rams into me with such force that my scream is a mixture of both pleasure and pain—the good kind. “Fuck, baby!”

“Oh, yes!” My breasts bounce up and down mercilessly. “I’m almost there.”

Matteo lowers himself and then presses his hand against my back so that we come together—chest to chest. His arms circle around me, pulling me in tightly. His assaults on my core relentless and merciless until I finally feel the thread snap and my walls collapse around him.

“Matteo!” I bury my nose into the crook of his neck and allow the orgasm to overtake me. My walls carry him over the edge, too, and he finds his release at the very end.

We ride out our orgasms until our bodies melt into each other, and we are left satiated and spent. For a long moment, we stay like that, tangled in each other, our breaths mingling, hearts pounding in unison. His arms remain wrapped around me, holding me against his chest as if he can keep the world at bay just a little longer.

I should move. I should pull away. But I don’t.

Instead, I let myself sink into the warmth of his embrace, memorizing the feeling of his skin against mine, the steady rhythm of his heartbeat beneath my ear.

Matteo’s fingers trace lazy patterns along my spine, sending shivers across my sweat-dampened skin. He presses a gentle kiss to my temple, so different from the desperate ones we shared earlier.

“I love you, Maria,” he whispers, his voice rough with emotion. “You’re the gravity that holds me together. Without you, I’ll fall apart.”

He doesn’t say the words, but I feel them—the plea buried in his silence:Don’t leave me.It trembles beneath the surface of every breath. He doesn’t dare ask, not out loud. Not with the weight of everything between us.

I want to answer him, to say something—anything—but the pain and betrayal tighten around my throat like a vice. The words die before they ever reach my lips.

So, instead, I shift from his chest and slide quietly to his side. “We should sleep,” I whisper, barely audible. “We’ll talk in the morning.”

He doesn’t fight me—thankfully. He simply pulls me in closer and presses his lips to my forehead one last time before we slip into silence.

I don’t know how long I lie there, waiting—until the steady rise and fall of his chest tells me he’s asleep.

For a moment, I allow myself to sink into his warmth, wishing this little bubble we’ve created could last forever. That maybe, just maybe, love could be enough.

But reality knocks—loud, insistent, unforgiving. I have to follow through—because if I don’t, everything I’m fighting for slips away.

Carefully, I slip out of his arms and move with practiced quiet. I retrieve the note I wrote before he came home and place it by the lamp, my fingers lingering on the paper for a beat too long.

Then I rush to the closet, pull on a pair of sweats, and grab the suitcase I’d stashed away.

I have minutes at most. I need to be quick.

I look at my phone and see that my mother has responded to the text I sent her a few hours ago.

I’m coming home, Mamá. I will explain when I get there.

Your room is ready, amore. Let me know when you’re on the plane.

I walk back into the room and see that Matteo is still fast asleep. The sheets pool at his waist, and his chest rises and falls gently. My heart squeezes, aching with the weight of what I’m about to do—but I know it has to be done. I have to leave.

I make my way out of the room carefully and shut the door behind me. I race downstairs, making sure to keep quiet to not alarm the guards that stand outside the door. If they catch wind of this, then I am finished.

There are two ways of leaving this fortress—the main door and the secret elevator by the kitchen. I choose the secret elevator. It’s the path of least resistance, and I need every advantage right now.

The kitchen is dark and silent as I slip through it, my footsteps barely a whisper against the marble floor. The service elevator is hidden behind a pantry door—the escape route Emily used. Ironic how I’m now using it to escape my husband.

The elevator descends slowly, each second stretching into eternity. I clutch my suitcase tighter, wondering if I’ve forgotten anything important. It doesn’t matter. I can’t go back now.

When the doors slide open, I’m met with the cool night air of the underground garage. My car is waiting, the keys ready in my hand. The car had been a gift from Matteo that I never got around to using until now.