Page 17

I slam the bathroom door shut behind me, my heels echoing against the floor as I march toward the massive mirror. My reflection stares back at me—bright, flushed cheeks, messy bun still perfectly defiant, and oversized sunglasses perched on my head like a crown. I mutter under my breath, fuming.

“They are so rude. I wonder how poor me could stand them! Meanies! Ugh!”

I slap my palm on the smooth counter and twist the gold faucet handle.

The cold water rushes out in a perfect stream as if mocking my current mood.

I splash some on my face, breathing deep, willing myself to calm down.

My hands tremble slightly under the water, but I tell myself it's fine. I'm fine.

The door creaks open behind me.

I snap my head toward it, narrowing my eyes as a tall young man steps inside. He freezes for a moment, staring as if he'd seen a ghost.

“Fee? Is that really you?” His voice is breathless, hopeful.

I blink, confused, reaching for a towel. My fingers tighten around the soft cotton as I shut off the faucet.

“Who are you?” I snap, clutching the towel like a shield.

Before I can fully back away, he rushes forward and wraps his arms tightly around me. His warmth presses into my chest, his chin lowering to kiss my forehead like it’s second nature.

Instinct makes me push him off, my heart hammering wildly. The closeness is disorienting—familiar, but wrong.

“Who. Are. You?” I repeat, my voice sharper this time.

He steps back, lifting his hands as if surrendering, face soft with regret. “Fee, I’m sorry. It’s me. Gustavo.”

I inhale deeply, still on guard. The name means nothing.

“I’m sorry, things are a bit weird for me right now.” I narrow my eyes, gauging his every move. “Should I know you?”

He inches closer, his voice a tender whisper. “I’m Serevin’s cousin. Gustavo Accardi. My mother told me about the accident.... I—oh, heavens, are you okay?”

I stiffen. The warmth in his eyes makes my defenses waver for a split second. “Your mother,” I say slowly, “was quite mean to me.”

A charming, almost boyish smile spreads across his face. “She’s mean to everyone. Serevin’s her only pet. Power keeps him in her favor.”

There’s a flicker of comfort in his tone, a softness I didn’t expect. For the first time since this nightmare started, I feel a sliver of safety. My shoulders relax, just a little.

“So…were we friends?” I ask, searching his face for any hidden motive.

He scratches the back of his head, suddenly awkward. “We were…a bit more than friends.”

I gasp, eyes wide. “Oh, my God. Was I cheating with you? Oh, my fucking God.” Panic kicks in, my mind spiraling through nonexistent memories. “I’m an evil woman!”

“No, no!” he says quickly, waving his hands. “You would never. Before you and Serevin…you and I, and Emilia—we were a little friend group. We studied abroad together. I—I really liked you, Fee.”

I stare at him, heart racing. “Then I ditched you for Serevin? Seriously? That’s cold.” My stomach twists. “Did we…yunno?”

He flushes, shaking his head. “No. You don’t remember anything, do you?

I confessed my feelings, and you—well…it doesn’t matter now.

” He sighs heavily, shifting his weight from one foot to the other.

“I was so worried. Serevin wouldn’t let us see you.

Emilia wouldn’t say anything either. His orders. ”

He watches me, concern written across his face. His voice drops gently. “Are you really okay?”

For a second, I blush. My eyes wander up his face. Handsome, sweet, doting. And somehow, still not the man I married. My gut twists again as I imagine why on earth I picked Serevin over him.

“You said I used to have a friend group. I had friends?”

He nods, eyes lighting up. “We all missed you, Fee.”

The thought stirs something warm. And desperate.

“Can I see them?” I ask. The words leave my mouth faster than I can second-guess them.

He hesitates but nods. “Of course.”

I grab his hand impulsively, squeezing. “Let’s go. Let’s find them.”

He looks down at my hand, startled, then lifts his head cautiously. “Aren’t you here with Serevin?”

I smirk, tossing my sunglasses back onto my face like armor. “He isn’t the boss of me.”

Gustavo pauses, scanning the hallway quickly. His voice lowers, more serious. “Before we do anything…you might want to check your clothes.”

I blink. “My clothes?”

He steps closer and murmurs, “He usually plants trackers on you.”

My breath catches, pulse racing again, a fresh layer of dread sliding beneath my skin.

I stare at him, lips parted, half-expecting him to burst into laughter again. But this time, he doesn't.

“Fee, I’m serious,” Gustavo says, his voice calm, low. Too calm. “You need to check.”

I narrow my eyes. My fingers glide over my clothes, brushing my scarf, my waistband, pockets—until my fingertips graze something small and hard, tucked deep inside my jeans pocket. My breath stills.

I pull it out slowly. A tiny black tracker. Smooth, round, blinking faintly.

I stare at it for a second, the heat rising to my cheeks. My jaw tightens as the realization sinks in.

“The demented son of a gun,” I mutter under my breath.

Gustavo’s gaze stays fixed on me. He doesn’t smirk this time.

I clutch the tiny device tighter in my palm, inhale deeply, and turn to him, determined. “Take me to my friends. If I have friends, I want to see them. I need to know who they are.”

He nods quickly, eyes flicking to the hallway. “Follow me.”

He reaches for my hand, warm and steady. I hesitate for a brief second but let him lead me down the long, sterile corridors.

Every few steps, my pulse quickens.

We step outside the estate’s side entrance, the early evening breeze kissing my skin. The tension coils tighter in my stomach the farther we walk.

“Stop,” I say. My voice echoes against the high stone walls.

I pull my hand away from his and stride toward a guard stationed near the edge of the property, standing stiff like a statue.

The man stiffens as I approach, likely recognizing me.

I press the beeping tracker into his palm, leaning in close enough that only he can hear me. My voice drops to a slow whisper. “Deliver this to Signore Accardi. And tell him….”

I pause, smiling faintly.

“Tell him to go fuck himself.”

The guard gulps, nodding silently as I pull away and straighten my scarf.

I turn back to Gustavo, sliding my sunglasses down over my eyes like a shield. “Let’s go.”

We slip into his car—a sleek black sedan waiting just beyond the main gates. The heavy gates close behind us with a quiet groan as we pull out onto the narrow road.

For a brief moment, I let myself exhale, relaxing against the seat. My heart beats faster with anticipation. Friends. People who might know who I am. Pieces of the puzzle waiting to be handed back to me.

I stare out the window, watching as the city shifts from manicured estates to winding suburban streets.

Then I feel it.

A shift.

I sense his gaze before I even turn.

He glances at me out of the corner of his eye, his fingers tightening on the wheel. His face hardens, like a mask slipping into place.

“You didn’t ask for my name,” he says flatly.

A chill slides down my spine, slow and unwelcome. The weight of his words sticks like sap.

I turn my head to face him, my voice careful. “You…introduced yourself.”

He doesn’t smile. His mouth stays flat for a beat too long.

Then suddenly he chuckles, shaking his head like it’s all one big joke.

“I’m kidding, Fee.” His voice is warm again, almost playful. “You’re always so serious.”

I laugh weakly, my voice thin and brittle. My fingers tighten slightly against my lap.

Something’s wrong.

Something is very, very wrong.

He keeps driving, the city falling further behind. I shift in my seat, trying to calm the building tension crawling under my skin.

Then he speaks again, softer this time. “Gustavo. That’s my name.”

“Oh,” I murmur, keeping my tone as steady as I can.

The car grows quiet.

My pulse pounds in my ears.

I stay stiff for the rest of the ride, every breath shallow, every turn of the wheel pulling me farther from safety.

Minutes pass before we pull up to a massive mansion, its towering white pillars casting long shadows in the dimming light.

The heavy gate closes behind us as Gustavo parks inside the compound.

He cuts the engine sharply.

His voice drops, harder now. “Get down.”

I freeze. The tone is different—sharp, almost commanding.

I glance at him, heart squeezing tight. “Is it me…or are you being hostile?”

He doesn’t answer. His fingers tap once, twice against the steering wheel, his eyes staring forward like stone.

The shift in the air is no longer subtle.

Something isn’t right.

Gustavo chuckles, but there’s no humor in it. It’s dry. Cold.

“Fucking cunt,” he mutters under his breath.

The click of his door handle snaps like a trigger in my chest. He swings the door open with a jerk, the frame shaking slightly under the force. I barely get a chance to react before he’s on my side, yanking my door wide.

“Hey!” I shout, jerking back.

His hand clamps around my arm like steel.

“Let me go, you psycho!” I scream, kicking at him, slapping at his hand, my heart pounding in that same terrifying rhythm my body seems to know all too well.

He drags me out of the car as my feet scrape against the gravel, my heels slipping with every forced step. The sun’s glare bounces off the mansion’s walls, blinding me momentarily as we approach the entrance.

The front doors open before we even reach them.

And then I see him.

A man—tall, thin, almost sickly looking—but something about him radiates menace. His sleeves are pushed up, revealing intricate black tattoos that twist like vines along his forearms. His t-shirt clings to his wiry frame, and his relaxed jeans only amplify the unsettling calm behind his eyes.

The smile on his face is all wrong. It’s too wide, too practiced, like a snake wearing human skin.

“Fee,” he says in a syrupy voice, drawing my name out slowly, savoring it. “How nice to finally meet you.”

I freeze. My breath shortens as his eyes rake over me like he’s assessing property.

Then—

Movement behind him.

Emilia steps forward from the shadows like she’s been hiding behind him the whole time. Her short black dress clings to her body; her hair, usually perfectly styled, is a tangled mess. Even through the smeared makeup and hollow eyes, I see it: guilt.

Layers of it.

She fidgets, looking anywhere but at me.

My stomach drops. My mouth goes dry. My entire chest tightens as the dread curls into full realization.

I snap my arm free from Gustavo’s grip, shoving him off me. My voice cracks out sharp, loud.

“You’re not my fucking friend, are you?”

The tension breaks like glass shattering.

Gustavo’s face twists into a grin so nasty it makes my skin crawl. His voice drips with mockery.

“Ding ding ding,” he says, tapping his temple like I’ve finally caught up.

The ground feels like it shifts beneath me, but I steady my feet. My fists clench as I realize just how much trouble I’ve gotten myself into.