Page 9

Red and blue lights strobe against the smoke, against the wreckage, against everything that still doesn’t feel real. Sirens tear through the air, growing louder, sharper, until they’re right on top of us.

Matteo tries to turn me away, shielding me with his body, but I fight him, struggling against his grip, desperate to see.

“No,” I sob. “I need to be with them. I need to?—”

“Jordyn, stop,” Matteo says, voice rough with something that sounds too much like pain. “You don’t want to see this, Tesoro.” I barely hear him over the chaos as paramedics flood the scene, shouting, running, pulling open the twisted doors of the car.

I catch a glimpse. Just one.

My father’s wedding ring, glinting under the flashing lights.

A scream builds in my chest, but it doesn’t make it out.

Matteo pulls me back again, one hand cradling my head against his chest as if he can shield me from the truth if he just holds me hard enough.

I squeeze my eyes shut, but it’s too late. The images are burned behind my eyelids.

Permanent and unforgiving.

The smell of smoke and blood fills my nose, thick and suffocating making my stomach churn. And somewhere, far away, someone is shouting orders, radios crackling, metal groaning as the jaws of life tear the car apart to get my parents out.

I feel so helpless. All I can do is cling to Matteo’s shirt, sobbing so hard I can barely breathe, as the world as I know it falls to pieces around me.

Matteo’s arms are locked around me, trying to pull me back, but I fight him with everything I have left, thrashing, clawing, sobbing.

“No!” I scream, the sound ripping out of me. “Let me go! I need to go to them!”

With a sudden jerk, I tear free of his grip. Everything spins around me, but I don’t stop. I run toward the wreckage, toward the flashing lights and twisted metal, toward the two people who still haven't moved.

“Jordyn!” Matteo’s voice bellows behind me, desperate, but I barely hear him.

A police officer catches me just before I reach them, grabbing me by the waist and hauling me back. I thrash in his arms, screaming, kicking, punching at his chest trying to tear away, but he holds firm. “Let me go!” I sob, reaching out toward them. “Mum!” I shout. “Daddy!”

Through the wall of bodies, paramedics, officers, firefighters, strangers...I see it.

They pull my mother’s body out first. Her arm dangles loosely as they lower her onto the asphalt, her hair matted with blood.

Then they pull my father free. His head lolls to the side, his face cut and bloodied, terrifyingly still.

I scream so hard my vision blackens at the edges, but it doesn’t stop what happens next. I watch, helpless as the white sheet is pulled up, fluttering gently in the breeze before settling over my mother’s body. Another over my father.

“No, no, no—” I sob, my knees giving way as the officer struggles to hold me upright. They’re not gone. They can’t be...

The world ruptures, the radios and shouting blurring into a single, unbearable noise. I claw at the officer’s arms, still trying to reach them even as the reality crushes me.

The finality of it slams into me like a freight train.

A hollow, ragged sound tears from my chest, a sound I don’t even recognise as my own. My knees buckle, and this time, it’s Matteo who catches me fully, lifting me off the ground as I fall apart in his arms.

“Come on, Jordyn,” he murmurs brokenly, pressing my face into his chest as he carries me away from the scene. “You don’t have to see this.”

But I already have. And no matter how hard I squeeze my eyes shut, I know I'll never unsee it.

The smoke. The flashing lights. The white sheets covering the only people who ever truly loved me.

Everything inside me goes ice cold, numb... like my heart has simply stopped.

It was in that moment that I realised. I would never be whole again.

I go limp in Matteo’s arms, my sobs fading into nothing, as the world around me dissolves into darkness.

I don’t know how long I was out, but I wake to silence.

The kind of silence that feels thick and heavy enough to crush you.

For one fleeting, fragile second, I forget.

I blink up at the ceiling, the moonlight leaking through unfamiliar curtains, and I almost believe I'm still back home.

That if I listen hard enough, I'll hear Mum humming in the kitchen while she cooks our Sunday roast, or Dad calling out for someone to put the kettle on.

But the longer I lie there, the more the truth creeps in. The hollow ache in my chest expands. Consumes me. The sting of dried tears on my skin.

The distant thud of footsteps echoing down long marble hallways.

This isn’t home. This is the Russo manor.

And my parents are gone. They’re really gone. It wasn’t a horrific dream.

The memory slams into me all over again. The wreckage, the sirens, the white sheets. A strangled sob catches in my throat, and I curl in on myself, clutching the sheets as if they might hold me together when everything else has already fallen apart.

How could this happen? I should be home right now, in my bedroom, on my bed with my parents curled up on the sofa and Mum forcing my Dad to watch Eastenders and him complaining even though he secretly loves it.

Instead, I’m curled up in a bed that isn’t mine, in this beautiful house that feels cold and unwelcoming. A fear I’ve never felt before settles deep inside my chest, crippling me.

I don't know how long I stay curled up like that, staring blankly at the wall, breathing through the hollow, crippling ache in my chest.

The door creaks open, soft but careful, like whoever is outside already knows I’m broken and doesn’t want to shatter me more.

“Jordyn?” Matteo’s voice drifts into the room, low and unsure.

A crackle of guilt runs through me, stupid and sharp, because he sounds... almost scared to come closer.

I don't answer. I can’t. My throat feels like it's been scraped raw.

There’s a beat of silence, then I hear him step inside, the door clicking shut behind him.

“I brought you some water and something to eat,” he says, like it matters. Like anything could matter.

I feel the weight of him lowering onto the edge of the bed, but I stay frozen, facing the wall, my body tense and small under the heavy blankets.

For a long moment, neither of us says anything. The only sound is the soft clink of a tray being placed on the nightstand.

“You should eat something,” he says after a moment, voice tight. “You haven’t... you haven’t eaten or had anything to drink since...”

Since . He doesn't finish the sentence. He doesn’t have to.

The word hangs there between us, thicker than the air, louder than the silence.

Since the accident. Since they died.

My eyes burn, but I don't cry. I have nothing left. Just this vast, empty space where my heart used to be.

I hear Matteo shift beside me, his breath catching like he’s trying to figure out what to say, what he could possibly say to fix any of this.

Spoiler alert: There’s fucking nothing.

Finally, he whispers, almost too low for me to hear: “I'm sorry, Fossette.”

Something cracks deep inside me. But still...I don't move. I don't turn around. Because if I look at him, if I let myself feel anything right now, I know I’ll fall apart.

And I’m not so sure I'll ever be able to put the pieces back together again.

The front doors slam open with a heavy, echoing crack that rattles through the marble halls.

I barely flinch. Curled up in the corner of the bed, the world feels distant, like I’m watching everything through thick glass.

“Where is she?” Bianca’s voice cuts through the silence, sharp, frantic.

I hear the thud of her footsteps, the quick scrape of her suitcase wheels being abandoned somewhere in the foyer.

“Where’s Jordyn?” she cries out again, her voice cracking.

Muffled voices answer her. Enzo, maybe, trying to calm her.

..but she’s already moving, footsteps pounding against the polished floors, getting closer.

And then, the door bursts open. She stands there, puffy-eyed, still in travel clothes, her hair pulled back hastily, face pale and blotchy like she’s been crying for hours.

“Jordyn,” she gasps when she sees me. Bianca walks over to me, kneels there, helpless, tears streaming down her face, her hands shaking like she doesn't know what to do or ow to reach me through all the wreckage between us.

For a long moment, we just stare at each other.

Two broken halves of the same heart. And then, slowly, carefully, like she’s approaching something fragile.

..something that might shatter if she moves too fast, Bianca reaches out.

She gathers me into her arms, pulling me against her chest, rocking us gently back and forth like she used to when I was little and scared of thunderstorms. For a second, I don't move.

I stay stiff and frozen, swallowed by the numbness.

But then her hands curl around the back of my head, and she whispers, over and over, “I’m so sorry, Jord. I’m so, so sorry I wasn’t there.”

I didn’t think it was possible, but something inside me breaks all over again.

A ragged, broken sob tears from my throat as I clutch at her desperately, my fingers fisting in the back of her shirt like she’s the only thing tethering me to the earth.

We hold each other, crying so hard it hurts to even breathe.

The grief between us is too big, too heavy, but right now it’s the only thing keeping us standing. I bury my face in her chest, soaking her shirt with tears and blood and everything I don’t have the words for.

“They’re gone, B. Mum and Dad are gone .” I whimper and she tightens her hold on me and sobs. All we have now is each other. In this big cruel world, it’s just the two of us.

Four days have passed since the accident, and the void left by my parents only grows wider and darker with each one.

I’m drowning in it. In the anger, in the bitterness. Resentment burns like acid in my gut.

Why? Why them?

I haven’t slept since that day. Every time I close my eyes, I’m right back there.

Trapped in a loop I can’t escape. Reliving the crash over and over again.

The screech of tyres. The shattering of glass.

The moment everything was ripped away from me.

And every time I wake up gasping, it feels like I lose them all over again.

Bianca and Enzo are busy making arrangements for the funeral, which will be held in London in two weeks.

And me? I’m just... lost.

I don't feel like I belong anywhere anymore...like a ghost wandering halls that don’t know my name. This isn't my life. This isn’t my home.

I’m clinging to whatever pieces of myself I have left, but they keep slipping through my fingers. I’m failing, rather miserably at holding it together.

I can’t breathe. God, I can’t fucking breathe.

The walls of this bedroom feel like they’re closing in, suffocating me with every second that passes.

When I can’t stand it a second longer, I shove my feet into a pair of shoes and slip out the door.

The sun is sinking low, bleeding gold and pink across the horizon as I head outside, desperate for air.

On my way out I swipe a bottle of amaretto.

Desperate for something— anything, to numb this goddamn ache in my chest.

I’m living in a house full of people, but I feel so alone.

Matteo and Bianca have been checking in on me daily, offering to take me out to help me take my mind off my grief, but I can’t.

As painful as it is, I don’t want to forget about them.

I want to hold on their memory for as long as I can before it starts to fade away.

The gravel crunches under my shoes as I wander aimlessly through the gardens, the half-empty bottle of amaretto swinging at my side. Five sips in and I’m already feeling tipsy. The Russo mansion shrinks behind me with every lazy step.

The air is cool against my skin, the sky bruised with the last colours of the setting sun, but none of it feels real.

I stumble into a back garden and find myself standing at the edge of a pool tucked away behind a wall of towering cypress trees. The water is still, smooth like glass, reflecting the darkening sky.

I walk to the edge, toes brushing the stone lip.

For a while, I just stand there, staring down at the perfect, untouched surface.

Staring at the reflection of a girl I no longer recognise.

Then I slowly turn around, take one long swig of the liquor before I drop it on the grass, close my eyes, tip my head back. ..and fall .

The world tilts.

The sky vanishes.

The cold slap of water hits me like a punch to the back.

I sink under, the weight of my clothes dragging me down. The shock knocks the air from my lungs, but I don’t fight it. I just let myself drift, suspended, weightless and empty.

For a moment, there’s no pain. No sound. Just the slow, muffled beat of my heart fading into nothing.

I like it.

Then, a shout disrupts my peace, sharp and frantic, pierces through the water followed by a splash. It gets louder, then c loser .

Strong arms wrap around me, yanking me up, dragging me toward the surface.

I break through with a gasp, coughing and sputtering, blinking the sting of chlorine from my eyes. Everything blurs and spins wildly for a second before I realise what is happening.

When I open my eyes, I see him.

Ares.

He’s there. His large hands grip my waist tight, his face inches from mine, his dark hair dripping, his chest heaving with laboured breaths. The raw panic carved into his features stuns me more than the cold.

“What the fuck are you doing?” he snaps, his voice hoarse with something that isn’t just anger. He holds me like he’s afraid that if he lets go, I’ll go under again.

I stare at him, dazed, the weight of everything pressing down on me again, heavier than before. But in this moment, in the way his hands tremble ever so slightly against my skin, I feel something ground me for the first time since everything fell apart.

And maybe it’s the alcohol. Maybe it’s the grief choking me. Or maybe it’s just Ares .

But I don’t pull away.

Not this time.