Page 12

The first thing I register is the faint pull of sunlight against my closed eyelids. And then warmth. A soft blanket tangled around my legs. A pillow that smells unfamiliar, like musk and something darker underneath.

My head pounds, a dull ache pulsing behind my temples. My body feels heavy, weighted down by exhaustion, by something I can’t quite put my finger on. I blink slowly, trying to piece together where I am.

This isn’t my room.

The walls are too dark. The air too cold. The bed way too big.

I push myself upright, the blanket slipping off my shoulders, and my heart stutters hard against my ribs. I’m wearing a black hoodie. It’s not mine. It’s too big, swallowing my frame whole.

And then I smell it. Him. His scent is everywhere.

Panic fills me as I glance around the room, my throat tightening.

No sign of anyone. The chair in the corner sits empty. The door is closed. It’s like he was never here. The memories come back in pieces. The pool. The cold. The way my body gave up. Strong arms wrapping around me. A rough voice murmuring in my ear.

Ti ho presa, Bambina. Sei al sicuro.

That voice.

Ares .

For a second, it feels like I’m still dreaming. Like maybe none of it happened. Maybe I imagined it—him jumping into the pool and pulling me out, holding me through the shaking, whispering things in a language that made my chest ache without even understanding the words.

I bury my face in my hands, trying to breathe past the pounding in my chest.

Did he really stay? Did he really hold me like that?

Or was it just some fever dream my broken mind conjured to survive the night?

To dull the penetrating pang in my chest. I pull the sleeves of the hoodie down over my hands, the fabric heavy and comforting in a way it shouldn’t be.

His scent clings to it, wrapping around me like a second skin.

I bury my nose into it, breathing him in.

The smell of chlorine still clings to my skin, and it makes my stomach lurch.

It feels real. Very real. But the empty room tells a different story.

Ares Russo doesn’t look like the type to hold broken and fragile girls through their nightmares. He doesn’t sit vigil all night in a chair, guarding someone like they matter.

I swallow hard when the ache in my chest becomes sharp and sour.

Maybe it’s better this way. Maybe it’s easier to pretend it didn’t happen at all.

I swing my legs off the bed, my bare feet hitting the cold floor, and pull the hoodie tighter around me like armour.

One step at a time. One breath at a time.

Because whatever last night was—real or not, it doesn’t change the fact that I still have to survive today.

I sit at the edge of the bed, my eyes closed, a voice in my head screams at me to stay. Refuse to leave and curl up into a ball on his bed and forget the world outside of this room exists.

When is it going to stop hurting? When is this weight crushing my chest going to ease, because every breath I take feels like it’s killing me, slowly and painfully.

I don’t know what I’m supposed to do with myself. I feel like I’m trapped in limbo. Stuck between two universes with no clue where to go or how to escape.

Wiping away a tear that rolls down my cheek, I slip off the bed and make my way to the bedroom door. I should go back home. Except...there is no home to go to anymore.

I can imagine my sister panicking if she noticed that I’m missing.

The corridors stretch long and empty, silent except for the soft pad of my bare feet against cold marble. Feeling uneasy, I tug the sleeves of Ares’s hoodie down over my hands, swallowing in the heavy, aching quiet.

Like the Russo manor, Ares’s place is also too big. Too cold. It makes me feel like a ghost, floating through someone else’s life. I don't know where I’m going, I just move. Around a corner. Past a sun-drenched hallway. Down another wide staircase.

And then I smell it.

Warm. Faint, but real.

Coffee. Toast. Something sizzling low and slow.

I follow it without thinking, like a moth to light, until I step into the doorway of a kitchen bigger than our entire flat in London.

And there he is.

Ares Russo. Barefoot. Once again in a pair of dark jeans and a black vest top that shows off his rippling muscles.

Standing at the stove, flipping something in a frying pan like he’s been doing it his whole life.

For a second, I can only stare.

The sun cuts through the windows behind him, casting his sharp profile in gold. His muscular shoulders are tense, his head bent slightly, focused entirely on what he’s doing.

Not the man who pulled me from the pool. Not the man who held me through my nightmares. Just... Ares. Quiet, steady and terrifyingly real.

He doesn’t look up. Doesn’t say anything, but somehow, I know he’s aware of my presence. Maybe he felt me, or maybe he’s been waiting.

I hover in the doorway, feeling awkward and invisible all over again, until he finally speaks, his voice low and a little rough from sleep or...silence perhaps.

“Sit,” he says, without looking at me. Not quite an order, nor a suggestion, but something in between. I swallow and drift forward on shaky legs, pulling myself up onto one of the stools by the island.

The smells hit me harder now. Coffee. Eggs and toast.

Real food. Something warm, something made for me .

Ares slides a plate across the counter toward me without a word, then moves to pour coffee into a heavy black mug. I stare down at the plate. Scrambled eggs on toast and smoked salmon arranged with a weird kind of care, and my throat closes up.

Nobody’s made me breakfast since...I blink hard, trying to push the thought away. I’m not going to cry, not here. Ares finally glances up at me, his eyes dark and as always unreadable.

“You need to eat,” he says gruffly.

“I’m not hungr—” I go to politely decline, but the firm stare he fixes me with stops me short. So, I nod once, my hands trembling slightly as I reach for the fork.

The first bite nearly undoes me. Warm, buttery... delicious .

Damn.

It’s stupid. It’s just eggs. It’s just food. But right now, to me, it feels like a lifeline.

Ares leans back against the counter, arms folded across his chest, watching me eat like he’s making sure I don’t shatter in front of him.

He doesn’t push nor speak again.

He just stays .

And somehow, in that moment, it’s oddly enough.

I keep my eyes cast down, focusing on the food, pretending I don’t feel the weight of his stare like a brand across my skin. I’m halfway through forcing another bite down when his voice cuts through the quiet, low, sharp, and completely unapologetic.

“You could’ve fucking died last night.”

I freeze, fork halfway to my mouth. The words land harder than they should. Like a hard slap across the face. No softness. No pity. Just raw, brutal fact.

I lick my lips as I set the fork down carefully, my fingers trembling just a little.

“I know,” I whisper.

Ares pushes off the counter, moving closer, hands braced on the island across from me.

“No,” he says, voice rough. “I don’t think you do, bambina.

You jumped into a pool, fully clothed, intoxicated.

If I hadn’t heard you...if I hadn’t found you—” He breaks off, jaw grinding like it physically pains him to finish the sentence.

“—you wouldn’t be sitting here right now. ”

The air between us hums with tension, thick and stifling.

I swallow hard, lifting my gaze to his. There’s no hatred there. No disgust or anger. I don’t really know what I see in his dark eyes, if I’m being honest.

“I’m sorry,” I murmur, my voice wavering.

For a second, he just stares at me, breathing hard through his nose.

Then he exhales, shoving a hand roughly through his tousled hair.

“Don’t be sorry,” he mutters. “Just don’t be stupid like that again.”

I nod quickly, blinking against the sudden sting behind my eyes.

Ares watches me for another long beat, then pushes the coffee mug toward me, softer this time. “Drink,” he says. “Eat. Then you can go home.” His voice drops an octave, now rougher. “And Bambina...”

I lift my eyes to meet his.

“The next time I find you on my property without an invitation, I’ll shoot you.” His gaze sharpens, eyes narrowing, slicing clean through me. “Capisci?” The corner of my mouth twitches, half a smile, half a sob. “You can let yourself out.” And with that, he vanishes, leaving me gaping after him.

It wasn’t a dream after all. Ares Russo really did pull me from the dark and refuse to let me drown.

I don’t even remember slipping out of Ares’s house. One second I’m at the kitchen counter, barely keeping it together under his heavy stare, and the next I’m pulling open the front door, the early morning light blinding and too harsh.

The world feels wrong. Way too bright. Needlessly loud.

I wrap my arms around myself, pulling the sleeves of his hoodie farther down over my hands as I walk. The manor looms in the distance, huge and intimidating.

Somehow, it looks colder than it did before. By the time I push through the heavy front doors, my stomach’s twisted into what feels like a million knots. The house is quiet.

A few staff members glance up as I pass, their faces shuttered, carefully blank.

Nobody says anything. Nobody meets my eyes, and I can’t say I blame them.

I feel like a ghost, floating through familiar hallways that suddenly don’t feel familiar at all. Like I’m trapped inside a version of reality that doesn’t belong to me. Someone else’s life. Someone else’s pain.

I make it halfway up the main staircase when I hear voices.

Is that...Bianca and Enzo?

I shouldn’t be listening to a married couple’s quarrel, but I can’t help it, especially when the topic is me. So, quietly, I inch closer and strain my ears to listen. They’re arguing in low, frantic whispers.

I freeze, my hand tightening around the bannister.

“She’s barely holding it together,” Bianca snaps, her voice wavering under the weight of it. “She needs us, Enzo.”