Page 14

The moment I step out of his office, I drop the act. The door clicks shut behind me, and my breath stutters. My legs wobble beneath me like useless sticks. My pulse hasn’t slowed since—God. My face burns, and I half-run down the hall, gripping the wall once to steady myself.

I shove open my bedroom door, slip inside, and slam it shut behind me. My back hits the wood. My knees give out, and I sink onto the bed, chest rising and falling too fast. My thighs still tremble.

I bury my face into the pillow, kicking my legs like some lovesick idiot.

The memory floods back in vivid, shamefully sharp detail. The heat of his mouth. The way his hands held my hips in place while I squirmed. The soft hum in his throat every time I gasped his name.

I groan, kicking harder at the mattress, as my body reacts all over again. Stupid. Absolutely stupid.

“Wait.” I flip onto my back, staring up at the ceiling, trying to calm the rolling wave of heat flooding through me. “He isn’t a stranger. He’s my husband.”

The word husband sounds foreign, heavy on my tongue. Like I’m speaking about someone else’s life.

I roll over again, groaning louder, clutching the sheets as my mind races. Why can’t I remember him? Why does everything about him make my skin burn and my stomach twist like this?

Brother Stefano’s voice creeps into my head: He didn’t love you when you were married.

I clutch my chest, pressing the heel of my palm against my ribcage. My heart beats painfully fast, like it wants to jump right out.

Then my gaze shifts toward the bedside table. I crawl forward, dragging myself to the edge. My fingers slide open the drawer, reaching inside to pull out the tiny key I found earlier. Cold metal presses against my fingertips.

I stare at it. The small thing feels heavier than it should. My breathing slows.

Enough waiting. Enough smiling. Enough playing this game.

If Serevin won’t tell me who I was, I’ll dig it out myself.

I rise from the bed, muttering under my breath as I yank open the wardrobe doors. “I need an outfit to sneak out in.”

The hunt begins.

The next morning hits before the sun even finishes waking up. Six a.m. sharp. The house is still half asleep, but I’m very much awake.

I stand in front of the full-length mirror, adjusting my black t-shirt and tugging my jeans into place. Simple. Practical. My scarf wraps around my head in soft satin folds, the ends tied low at my nape. Sunglasses slide over my eyes, covering just enough of my face.

This isn’t glamorous. This is tactical.

I tiptoe to the window, parting the curtain an inch with my finger.

Outside, the staff are already shuffling through the rear gates, dressed down in their normal clothes before they change into their stiff uniforms inside the house.

A fresh wave rotates in every morning at this hour—cooks, gardeners, cleaners. The changing of the guard.

Perfect.

I pull the door open a crack and peek out. The hallway is empty except for two guards standing down by the far end of the wing, their heads bowed in quiet conversation. Likely bored. Probably half awake.

I inhale. My pulse thumps once, hard.

“Heaven help me,” I whisper under my breath.

I clear my throat and then let out the tiniest squeak.

High-pitched. Quick. Like something small and fuzzy had just darted under the floorboards.

One guard snaps his head up. “Did you hear that?”

The other frowns. “Is that…a mouse?”

They start toward my door, walking at first, weapons still holstered, their attention locked on the sound.

I wait, timing it as they get closer. My hand grips the knob tight.

Three steps away.

Two.

Now.

I throw open the door and launch myself into the hallway, voice pitched into full-blown panic. “Help! A rat—a rat in my room!”

Both guards nearly trip over themselves as I flail my arms like some helpless hysteric. “It ran under the dresser! It’s huge!” I gasp, pointing wildly toward the corner of the room.

They rush past me, pushing into the bedroom in a scramble of booted feet and anxious glances. One is already crouching near the dresser, the other scanning the corners.

I turn on my heel and slip away, moving fast but light on my feet, keeping close to the wall.

Down the long staircase, my breath is shallow. My shoes barely make a sound on the polished stone as I descend.

At the bottom, near the rear hallway, I spot a small group of maids making their way toward the changing rooms by the back exit. They chatter softly amongst themselves, completely unaware of me slipping into their wake.

The staff entrance sits wide open ahead—an unassuming plain metal door used for deliveries and employees, tucked behind the kitchen.

Almost there.

I slip through the staff exit and step into the backyard. The early morning air is cool against my skin, the sky barely awake, its dull grey stretched wide above the estate walls. I move quickly across the stone path, aiming for the far perimeter—until a voice halts me.

“Hey. Backyard’s off limits this early.”

Shit.

I turn slowly, fixing my sunglasses in place as my heart knocks once in my chest. A guard stands by the far hedges, one hand resting lazily on his belt. He squints at me, not recognizing who I am—just another staff girl in casual clothes.

I shift my weight, my lips curling into a soft smile as I saunter toward him. My fingers trail up to his shoulder, then higher, grazing the side of his neck, feather-light. His breath catches.

“I just wanted a smoke,” I say, voice low, smooth. I let my nails drag gently along the edge of his jaw. “But…I could have other things too.” My smile widens as I lean a little closer.

His expression shifts in a blink—hesitation melts into hunger. His pupils darken, and before I even fully register the stupidity in his eyes, he grabs my waist, pulling me roughly toward the wall. His mouth crashes against mine, sloppy and eager, hands already sliding down my sides.

Wrong move.

I let him pull me in just enough—close, vulnerable. Then my knee snaps up hard.

Direct hit.

He gasps, a broken wheeze erupting from his chest as he doubles over, clutching himself. His legs wobble under him.

“Not today, asshole,” I mutter, pushing him backward into the stone wall.

As he stumbles, I catch movement from the corner of my eye—a narrow break in the hedge. A door. Metal, old but reinforced, partially hidden behind creeping ivy. My heartbeat kicks up again.

While the idiot’s still groaning, I plant my foot on his shoulder and shove him down flat onto the ground. His head thumps against the gravel. He wheezes again, curling on his side.

“Key,” I demand, standing above him. “Do you have it?”

He lets out a broken moan, trying to gather breath. I pull off my sunglasses and squat low so he can see my face clearly.

The color drains from his face instantly. His eyes bulge wide, recognition flashing behind the panic.

“Shit…you—Miss D'Angelis…” his voice breaks entirely. “Please—”

I cut him off, smiling coldly. “Yeah, that’s right. And if Serevin finds out what you just tried to do, you won’t be guarding doors. You’ll be buried under one.”

He freezes. Sweat beads along his forehead. His shaking hand fumbles toward his belt, pulling a small ring of keys free and holding them up like an offering.

I pluck the keys from his trembling hand, sliding my sunglasses back onto my face. “Good boy.”

He stares up at me as I walk away, his chest still heaving on the gravel.

The door clicks open with a sharp metallic snap. I glance back once before stepping through.

The world outside is a dry stretch of dirt road, cutting straight through nothing but dust and silence. The estate walls rise behind me like a prison I’ve just broken out of.

I place my hands on my hips and sigh. “Fuck my life.”

^^^^

The sun is merciless. My scarf sticks to my neck, sweat sliding down the back of my spine. Every step feels heavier than the last. The dusty road stretches ahead like some cruel joke that won’t end.

I curse under my breath, dragging my feet. My shirt clings to my back, my sunglasses sliding down my nose. I shove them up with one irritated finger.

“Who the hell builds a mansion in the middle of actual nowhere?” I mutter, wiping my brow.

Then—finally—movement.

A car.

A small blur on the horizon grows larger. My stomach leaps with relief as I throw my arms up, waving frantically. “Hey! Over here!” My voice cracks from dryness, but I wave harder.

The car slows, gliding toward me. As it rolls up, the tinted window begins to slide down. I lean forward, breathless. “Oh, thank heavens, good sir, can you take me to the main road?”

The window lowers fully—and my stomach drops.

Cassian.

His blank face stares back at me from behind dark lenses.

“Oh, fuck,” I whisper, already stepping back.

I spin on my heel, picking up my pace and speed-walking as if my life depends on it. The car glides forward beside me, matching my pace effortlessly.

The back window hums down, and I feel the weight of his stare before I even look.

Serevin.

Sitting there in a dark suit, not a hair out of place, watching me like he’s sizing up his next problem. His voice is calm, controlled. “How did you even think you’d get away?”

“There are cameras all around the house, mi lady,” Cassian calls from the driver’s seat, far too amused.

I clench my fists. “Fucking fantastic,” I hiss under my breath.

“Get in,” Serevin says. His tone leaves no space for negotiation.

“You’re not the boss of me.” I keep walking. The car glides beside me like a patient shadow.

“It’ll take you another two hours to even reach the main road,” his voice drops lower, cooler. “I won’t ask you again. Get in.”

My throat burns. My legs ache. My pride wants to keep walking, but my body is screaming otherwise.

He starts rolling the window back up slowly, but I slap my hand against the glass, stopping it.

“Fine,” I mutter. “I’ll get in.”

The car brakes gently. The door opens. I climb inside, sinking into the cool leather, my muscles grateful but my ego bleeding.

Serevin clears his throat and gestures. Cassian presses a button, and the partition rises with a soft hum, sealing us inside together.

He turns toward me, jaw tight. “Making out with the guard? Are you that lowly?”

I roll my eyes and turn my head toward the window. “Do you realize I don’t care what you think about me? I don’t even know you.”

He scoffs, but his eyes darken, sharp with anger. “You have a reputation. I have a reputation. I cannot have you humiliating me like this.”

I fold my arms, leaning back. “I should’ve just kept walking,” I mumble.

Suddenly, his hand shoots out, gripping my chin roughly, forcing my head toward him.

My breath catches. His eyes burn into mine.

“You’re hurting me,” I say, my voice shaking as I stare up at him.

His fingers dig harder into my jaw, thumb pressing against my cheekbone like he’s trying to carve his control into my skin. His face is close—too close—his eyes wild and burning. The usual cold calculation is gone. What’s left is something unhinged.

“Did you enjoy him kissing you?” His voice is low, almost a growl, biting at my ears.

I bring my hands up, pushing at his chest, but it’s like shoving a wall. “Let go of me, you freak!” I shout, my palms slapping against his chest. He doesn’t flinch. His grip tightens. My head jerks slightly from the pressure, tears welling at the corners of my eyes.

“Let go, please,” I whisper, my voice breaking as the tears threaten to fall.

And then—something shifts. His breathing slows. His eyes lose some of that sharp, frenzied light. The tension in his shoulders drops slightly, as if my words finally cut through the madness.

He releases my face, letting my chin fall from his hand. His fingers twitch once before he draws them back, straightening his jacket with a sharp tug, trying to smooth away the scene like it never happened.

I rub my chin, the skin sore beneath my fingertips. My lips curl into a bitter smile, and I laugh under my breath. “You fucking piece of shit.”

His jaw tightens, but he doesn’t bite back this time. His eyes flash, then cool, as if forcing himself back into his usual mask.

Finally, he speaks, voice clipped. “I was looking for you because you were supposed to accompany me to a meeting.”

I blink. My spine stiffens slightly. A meeting?

My mind races. Who was I supposed to meet? Could it be someone who knew me? Someone who might finally break this fog wrapped around my head?

Before I can spiral too far, his voice cuts back into my thoughts. “Contessa Vittoria Accardi,” he says, each word falling with weight. “My aunt.”

The name slams into me like a gust of cold wind. My breath stutters. My hand lifts instinctively, my gaze following as goosebumps rise across my forearm. My skin tingles and tightens with some buried memory I can’t quite grab.

He watches me carefully, eyes narrowing slightly.

“She learned you were discharged,” he continues, his voice softer now, almost coaxing, “and she requested we have dinner with her.”

Something coils in my stomach, tightening.

Before I can ask anything, his tone shifts again, hardening. “You don’t remember, but my aunt can be…tough. No cursing. No yelling. Speak when you’re spoken to. Leave the rest to me. She knows the situation, so she won’t push much.”

My lip twitches. The fire returns, burning right through the anxiety in my chest. “Ah, I see. She’s a jerk just like you. Must run in the family.”

His gaze flickers, jaw clenching, but this time, he says nothing. His eyes drift away, breaking the heavy stare between us.

I click my tongue, glancing away as well, but the weight pressing into my chest only grows heavier. And for the first time, it makes perfect sense.

This fear inside me—this ache in my ribs that never goes away—it’s not just about him.

Whatever I used to be to him, it was never love. It was never a partnership.

It was property. Duty.

Tears sting behind my eyes, but I force my chin high, breathing through the tightness. If he sees me break, he wins. And I refuse.