Page 1 of Intrigue
Chapter 1
Selene
Five years ago.
I always thought my first heartbreak would come gently. Something inevitable, something I could brace for.
I didn’t think I’d have to watch the man I’ve been in love with for the last five years slip his hands under another woman’s skirt, touching her like I never existed. Like I never held him at 2 a.m. when our world felt too heavy. Like he never traced my name against my skin or kissed my fingertips just to make me smile.
How many times did he swear I was his forever? How many times did I believe him?
I used to believe love was the safest place in the world. That if you gave your heart fully, thatsomeonewould hold it carefully. But what no one tells you is that love doesn’t protect you. It’s the equivalent of handing thatsomeonea knife and daring them to use it.
There’s this tightness in my chest, a gnawing emptiness that feels like it’s swallowing me whole. I keep telling myself this isn’t real, that I’m not trapped in this nightmare, that what I am currently witnessing is just an illusion.
This can’t be real, this agony, this devastation.
Florence at this time of the night beyond the courtyard walls is all laughter spilling from piazzas and music floating through the narrow streets. It’s a night for lovers and whispered promises. For the kind of reckless dreams he’d once pressed against my skin.
But I am not a lover tonight. I am a fool with my heart in my hands, bleeding out at the feet of the man who swore to protect it.
I see her draped over him like she belongs there, fingers tracing his chest, lips skimming his jaw. And he lets her. A stranger with dark hair like mine, wrapped in a bright red dress. His hand rests at her waist, his face buried in her stupid tresses, tilting her head just enough to whisper something against her mouth. She laughs and I swear I feel it more than hear it.
I stand frozen, my boots scuffing against the uneven stone, the stiff heat pressing my shirt to my back. Ivy twists up the walls and catches in the moonlight that spills over Alessandro Vescovi and this girl. This drunken, swaying mess with her skirt bunched up and his fingers between her thighs.
Heat slices through my chest, and I dig my nails into my palms hard enough to form crescents.
“Sandro,” I choke out, stepping forward despite my trembling legs, the pebbles crunching ominously beneath me. “What are you doing?” My voice breaks in a feeble attempt to cling to the remnants of what we once had. A part of me hopes he’ll snap out of this nightmare, see me, and realize what he’s about to lose.
He pulls his hand free, slowly, and wipes it on his jeans, then he turns his head, looks at me, and my stomach twists. Ice-blue eyes, impassive. A stranger wearing his face.
The girl at his side stumbles back, her skirt still bunched, lipstick a crooked smear. She giggles loudly and sings songs. “Oh, crap, you’re in trouble.”
“Be quiet,” Sandro mutters, pushing her aside gently. She sways, grabs the fountain’s edge, and hiccups, still grinning. He looks at me, eyes leveled but full of something, regret, maybe, or just irritation. “Selene, why are you outside this late? You should go back inside.”
I step closer, my boots scraping louder. “Go inside? I just caught you with your hands all over her, and I should just leave?”
She laughs again, leaning toward him. “Aw, the little princess is pissed. Did not know she was a clingy one, Sandro.”
“I said quiet,” he repeats, voice calm and nudging her back. He faces me fully now. “You should have known this wasn’t going to lead anywhere. Your father would never have allowed it. This is for the best.”
My chest clenches. “So, I don’t get a say?”
His silence before he replies is worse than any answer.
“You don’t have a choice. This is how it was always meant to be. What happened between us never should have. My loyalty is to Don and no one else.”
The words land like a slap. “So that’s it? You were just playing around? Everything we did, everything you said to me, none of it was real?”
He drags a hand through his hair, exhaling like this conversation is more exhausting than the betrayal sitting between us.
“I got carried away.”
A hollow laugh breaks from my throat. “Carried away? You’re telling me the nights we spent together, the things you swore to me, were just, what? A lapse in judgment?”
He looks past me, and I continue.
“If this is about what my father’s friends said the other day about me getting married, you know it’s a joke, right?” My voice shakes, but I push forward. “They were drunk, running their mouths. That’s not real, Sandro. You and me, we—”