Page 11 of The Maddest Obsession (Made 2)

Blood, veins, and my heart went ice cold—and, with one fell swoop, my world crashed to the floor around me.

My eyes flew open, the pain in my head ignored for the stronger ache blooming in my chest.

I viewed it in snapshots. My dress on the floor. A slit of light through the blinds. Naked skin. Mine. His.

I pulled the sheets closer as a deep sickness churned in my stomach.

He ended the call, tossed his phone on the nightstand, and closed his eyes. After a moment of thick tension permeating the air, he flicked them back open and looked straight at me. We stared at each other as an invasive silence licked at my skin.

“Jesus,” was what Nico muttered before he closed his eyes again.

I leaned over the bed and threw up everything in my stomach. Acid singed my throat, and I wiped my mouth with the back of a hand.

Disgrace.

Worthless.

Unlovable.

Whore.

It didn’t happen.

Lie, the blackness whispered.

I felt the imprints all over me—hands, teeth, lips—crawling over my skin and into my soul with claws made of heartbreak and metal.

Opening my eyes, I stared at a used condom on the floor.

My ears rang, my lungs closed up, and I couldn’t breathe. I gripped the sheets, panic tearing through my chest.

“Gianna . . .”

“I gave him everything,” I cried, tears streaming down my cheeks.

“Hell,” he muttered before getting to his feet and pulling on a pair of boxer briefs. He went to pick up my dress but tossed it back on the floor when he saw I’d puked on it.

“I was a virgin when I married him. I was faithful.”

“I know.”

The images from yesterday came back with a vengeance. Our room. My husband. Her. Someone I had considered family. I’d always known there were other women . . . but why her? Betrayal cut through my chest, a fresh and burning wound. Tears ran over my lips, tasting salty on my tongue.

“It wasn’t enough,” I whispered. I’m never enough.

“Nothing is enough for my father, Gianna,” he said. “You know that.”

My throat tightened as I watched Nico grab a shirt from his dresser drawer, because sometimes, I could see Antonio in the way he carried himself.

I was in love with my husband, a man who didn’t love me. Maybe I could blame Agent Allister for putting the idea in my head one year ago, but somehow, the pain had led me here. To my husband’s son.

The panic attack reared its head, stealing the breath straight from my lungs. “How did this happen?”

“Really? You need me to explain it to you?”

“This isn’t a joke, Ace.”

“Not laughing, Gianna.”