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This Isn’t My Life

Hypothetical Question: Do you think it's more satisfying to know you’ve ruined someone’s life or to have them thank you for it before you end it all?

Carina

I quickly fix my hair and touch up my makeup as best as I can, my hands trembling as I smooth down my dress. With one last glance in the mirror, I slip out of the bathroom and follow Nate’s retreating figure.

God. Seeing him tonight was like breathing again. I’ve missed him so much it physically hurts. And I told him—I told him I loved him. The words came so easily, like they’d been waiting on the tip of my tongue for weeks. No hesitation, no fear like there was when he first said them to me.

The look in his eyes when he saw the bruises—anger, heartbreak, helplessness—nearly shattered me. I could see it, the way his body tensed, ready to say, “Fuck it” and drag me out of here, consequences be damned. But I couldn’t let him. Not tonight. Not here. It’s too high-profile, too dangerous. We have to wait.

But God, the thought of waiting feels impossible. The rage simmering in my chest is suffocating. I want to kill them both with my bare hands. It takes everything in me not to scream, not to break.

At the end of the hall, Lucian waits, his posture rigid, his dark eyes sharp and unrelenting. My pulse thunders in my ears.

Does he know? Did he see us?

“You were gone a long time,” he says, his voice low and heavy with suspicion. His gaze rakes over me, dissecting, searching for cracks in my composure.

I lower my eyes, swallowing hard against the lump in my throat. “Sorry,” I mumble, forcing an evenness into my tone. “I wasn’t feeling well.”

He studies me for a moment longer, the weight of his scrutiny suffocating, before he straightens and extends his arm. “Time to go home. The party’s winding down.”

I nod, slipping my hand into the crook of his elbow, the perfect picture of obedience. Time to play my part. To pretend nothing’s changed.

But everything has changed.

Because Nate was here.

Because I told him I loved him.

Because Lucian can never find out.

As we move through the scattering guests, I barely register the polite smiles, the congratulatory remarks, the murmured goodbyes. Their words are distant echoes, meaningless noise against the roar of my own thoughts.

The car ride is suffocating. The silence stretches like a noose, and though I keep my gaze fixed out the window, I can feel his eyes on me. Heavy. Accusing.

When we finally reach his house, I don’t wait for him. I head straight for the stairs, desperate to escape, to lock myself in my room and gather the shattered pieces of my sanity. But his voice stops me dead.

“You smell like sex.”

My blood turns to ice.

Slowly, I turn, fighting to keep my expression blank, my panic buried beneath the surface. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I say, my voice thin, unsteady.

Lucian steps closer, his gaze narrowing into slits, his voice a low growl. “Don’t insult me. Your hair’s a mess, your makeup’s ruined—you’ve been with him , haven’t you?”

My breath catches, my body stiffening as fear coils tight in my stomach. I can’t speak, can’t move.

He’s on me before I can react, his presence overwhelming, suffocating. His hand fists in my hair, yanking my head back so sharply pain explodes across my scalp.

“You think you can humiliate me?” he hisses, his face inches from mine, his grip tightening. “You think I won’t find out?”

Tears blur my vision, but I bite them back, refusing to give him a reaction. My heart pounds against my ribs, my fury and terror warring beneath my skin.

Not yet. Not yet. I can’t break.

“Get on your knees.” The command is cold, demanding.

I freeze.

I look at the floor, the cracks in the tiles, and the scattered pieces of my soul.

“No.”

“I wasn’t asking.”

His grip on my hair tightens before he throws me to the ground like a rag doll. Pain erupts in my arm as I catch my fall, and I try to stop myself from crying out.

My eyes stay trained to the floor as I hear his belt being undone, his zip lowered. I swallow thickly in my throat.

This is not happening.

He clasps strands of my hair in his hand as he positions himself in front of my face. His cock directly in line with my mouth.

“Open.”

I don’t move. I barely even breathe.

The pain at my scalp is unbearable and when he twists my hair once more my mouth opens in a gasp. He takes that moment, using it to his advantage as he shoves himself roughly inside, right to the back of my throat. I gag and bile rises up.

He fucks my mouth, never letting up the pace. Tears stream down my cheeks as I try not to throw up on him.

“You are mine. You belong to me. And you will not see him again. Do you understand me?” His voice is grating, strained with laboured breaths.

Something inside me snaps.

No.

No.

NO.

This isn’t me.

This isn’t my life.

Not anymore.

My teeth sink into his flesh, hard and unrelenting. His scream tears through the room, raw and guttural, a twisted symphony of pain.

Triumph surges through me, hot and electric, as the bitter tang of blood coats my tongue. I spit it out, releasing him, and he stumbles back, collapsing to the floor.

He writhes, clutching at his broken, throbbing dick, his face contorted in agony. “What the fuck did you do?” he chokes out between ragged breaths, his voice a jagged edge of fury and disbelief.

I don’t answer. There’s no time to waste. My feet carry me to his office on autopilot, the adrenaline coursing through my veins sharpening my focus. The kitchen knives are locked away, always out of my reach, but I know his habits. There’s a letter opener on the desk. My fingers close around it, the cold steel grounding me, its weight a promise.

My pulse pounds in my ears as I return to him. He’s still sprawled on the floor, his breaths shallow, his body trembling. I drop to my knees beside him, the blade gleaming in the dim light.

“What I should have done a long time ago,” I say, my voice low, venom lacing each word.

His bloodshot eyes flick to mine, then to the blade in my hand. Fear blooms in his gaze, but it doesn’t overpower his smug arrogance. Even now, he thinks he can manipulate me.

“Carina,” he wheezes, trying to muster authority. It’s the first time he’s used my new name, and it speaks of just how little control he has right now. “Think this through. You know what’ll happen—to you, to your precious boyfriend.”

I laugh, sharp and cold, the sound cutting through his words like a blade. “You don’t get it, do you? There’s nothing I wouldn’t do to protect him.”

“Then be smart about this,” he pleads, desperation seeping into his tone.

“I am,” I state simply.

I don’t have time for theatrics. No time to make him suffer the way I’d like to. This needs to end. Now.

I drive the letter opener down with all the strength I have, burying it in his chest. His eyes widen in shock, a gurgle escaping his lips as blood bubbles up, spilling down his chin.

“ Ci vediamo all’inferno 15 , ” I hiss, watching as the light drains from his eyes, his body slumping into stillness.

For a moment, I just sit there, the room heavy with silence except for my ragged breathing. My hand shakes, still clutching the bloodied letter opener, and the enormity of what I’ve done starts to creep in.

What the fuck just happened?

Then I remember. The phone. The one Nate slipped me, tucked away in my bra. My fingers fumble as I pull it out, the slickness of sweat on my skin making it harder to grip. I find his name—the only contact stored—and press the call button.

It rings once before his voice cuts through the chaos in my head, smooth and steady. “Princess?”

“I fucked up,” I blurt, my voice cracking.

“Tell me,” he replies, his tone calm but commanding.

I recount the events in a rush, words tumbling out as he listens, asking the occasional sharp question. His focus is like a lifeline, anchoring me to the present.

“Hold on,” he murmurs, his voice muffled as he speaks to someone else. “You can both handle knives, right?”

There’s a pause, followed by an annoyed sigh. “Yes, you can have the pink one. For fuck’s sake, Kai.”

I can’t help it—I laugh. It’s a broken, shaky sound, but it’s real. God, I’ve missed this. Missed them. Their easy banter feels like a thread pulling me back to sanity.

“Nate,” I whisper, my voice steadier now.

“I’ve got you,” he soothes. “Just sit tight. We’re on our way.”

Nate arrives an hour later; I buzz him through the gates and the knock on the door cuts through the silence like a knife. I’m still in the hallway, pacing nervously, when the sound jolts me out of my thoughts.

Unlike my father, Lucian never kept guards on hand to keep me locked in. He didn’t have to. He was always watching. The one time I even attempted leaving, I got one toe on the stairs when the alarm started blaring. He had the place set up so he would always know my next move. Most of the time, he confined me to my room, letting me out only when convenient for him.

I throw open the door and launch myself into his arms without hesitation. His strong hands grip my thighs, lifting me easily as he carries me inside. The familiar scent of him—spiced clove and cedarwood—grounds me in the chaos.

He sets me down gently when we reach Lucian’s body, his gaze locking onto it with a cold, satisfied smile.

“You did good, Princess,” he murmurs, his voice a mix of pride and something darker.

Before I can respond, a familiar voice cuts through the tension.“Fucking hell, bella .”

I spin around, untangling myself from Nate’s hold, and practically fling myself at Enzo. His arms wrap around me in a warm, steady embrace.

"You shouldn't be here," I whisper, pulling back just enough to see his face.

"Nate called me after you were taken." His is tone soft but laced with an edge of protectiveness. "I've been here ever since.”

“But your father—”

“I’ve been working remotely, bella . You’re more important.”

I squeeze him tightly again then glance at Nate.

My chest tightens.

He shrugs like it's nothing.

But it's everything.

Nate's gaze meets mine hard. Unyielding.

"Your father has to die," he states flatly.

I exhale. Then smile.

"Then let's finish this."

“We need to get this party moving, people,” Kai says, stepping into the house. I see his hint of relief in his eyes as he takes me in. His smile is friendly but fleeting as he shifts into business mode, the air around him turning sharp and efficient. “There’s a media circus camped outside the gates, all hoping for a glance at the ‘happy couple’.” Her wrinkles his nose at his last words.

“First, we clean this up,” Nate says, his voice steady and measured as if discussing a business deal rather than disposing of a body. “Keep it quiet for as long as possible. That buys us more time to plan.”

Enzo takes over, issuing orders like a general. He cracks his knuckles. "I'll take care of logistics. Nate, you're on grave duty with Kai. Carina, you’re with me—we’ll handle the blood."

No one questions Enzo’s authority.

We get to work.

The hours drag. Every second is marked by the sharp scent of bleach and the rhythmic scrape of brushes against the tile. My arms ache, and my fingers are raw from scrubbing. Blood is stubborn, seeping into every crevice and staining the grout.

Lucian is buried six feet under, a fresh animal carcass layered on top to throw off any suspicion.

By the time we finish, the entrance hall gleams under the harsh light, but the scent of chemicals clings to the air like a ghost.

We gather in the study.

The rich, dark wood panelling absorbs the weight of what we've done and about to do.

Kai sits at the desk, his leg jumping up and down anxiously. Enzo perches on the arm of an old leather chair, idly twirling his blade, the silver catching the light. His movements are too practised, too smooth.

How many times has he done this before?

Nate stands behind me, his presence looming and reassuring, his hands resting lightly on my shoulders.

Dominic’s name hangs between us like a curse.

"We take him out, we take out his entire operation," Kai says. " Clean sweep. No survivors."

Enzo's blade spins between his fingers, a wicked grin tugging at his lips. "And no evidence."

I nod, steeling myself. “We have to make them all disappear.”

Nate grins, sharp and feral. “We make it a slow, gruesome, painful.”

“Obviously. And I assume you already know how to do that Mr Death?” I arch an eyebrow at him.

Nate’s eyes glint with the promise of violence. “I’ve got some ideas for that. Nothing like a little theatre to drive the point home.”

I feel a grim satisfaction settling in my chest. “Tell me what I need to do.”

Nate kneels in front of me, his face inches from mine. “You with me, Princess?”

I nod, no hesitation. “To the end.”

His lips curl into a dark smile. “Good. Then let’s make them all bleed.”