“No. No censoring. I’m your cousin, not a nun.”
I laugh, pushing my hair behind my ear. The café is warm, the clink of cutlery and espresso machines almost cozy. “Fine. You want the full truth?”
“Yes,” she says, leaning in like she’s about to receive state secrets.
“Lucien and I…” I pause, because the words feel too big. Too real. “It’s intense. The chemistry is—God—it’s like nothing I’ve ever felt. It’s hot and overwhelming and addictive. And when I’m with him, I feel…” Seen. Wanted. Safe. Alive. Like I’m more thanthe broken pieces Matteo left behind. Like I’m someone worth choosing. Worth loving…
Stacy’s grin widens, then softens. “Briar. That’s amazing. I’m so happy for you.”
“But?” I ask, because I can hear the but in her voice.
She hesitates. “Just be careful, okay? Lucien Moretti has a reputation. He doesn’t do relationships. He doesn’t do forever. I don’t want you to get hurt.”
“I know,” I whisper. And I do know. I know exactly who he is and what he comes from. But I’m already falling, and I don’t know how to stop. Maybe I don’t want to. A part of me, even knowing this truth, also hopes that I’ll be different. That he’s different with me. That’ll I change him.
Stacy reaches across the table and squeezes my hand. “And Matteo?”
At the sound of his name, my stomach tightens, but today there’s more confidence than fear. “Nothing. I haven’t seen him. Not once. I think he finally figured it out that I’m well protected, both at work and where I’m living at the moment. I think he’s done.”
Stacy exhales in relief. “Thank God. He always scared me. The way he looked at you—like he owned you. Like he could break you and enjoy watching.”
“He can’t hurt me anymore.” I know that Matteo did break me and enjoyed every shattering moment he inflicted on me. Lucien would never let it happen again. I deserve peace, and through my actions, meeting Lucien has given me what I craved most.
A life.
We finish eating sandwiches and split a slice of lemon tart, and for the first time in years, I laugh without it feeling fragile. When I excuse myself to go to the bathroom, Stacy waves me off with her fork, phone already out to scroll Instagram. Thetwo security men stay near the entrance to the café, watching everything.
I push through the hallway toward the restroom, heels clicking softly over the tile. It’s quiet inside the ladies, the kind of hush that feels suspended, like the air is holding its breath. The fluorescent light hums overhead and there’s a distinct scent of disinfectant.
I push open the stall door, but before I can close it, a force slams it hard back at me. The edge of the wooden door cracks against my mouth with a sickening snap. Pain explodes across my lip and I taste blood.
I stumble backward, hitting the toilet tank hard enough to bruise, vision blurring from the sudden shock. The stall door slams shut. The lock clicks. And then he’s there.
Matteo.
His face twisted with fury, breath smelling of bourbon, eyes wild and sharp with manic rage. “Did you think you could hide from me?” he hisses, stepping forward.
My blood turns to ice. “I—Matteo, please?—”
“Oh, you remember how to beg, do you?” He grabs my jaw in one brutal hand, squeezing hard enough that stars spark at the edges of my vision. “Stop playing hard to get. You’re embarrassing yourself. Come home. Now.” His fingers dig harder, nails biting into my skin. Pain flares hot and sharp down my neck. “You’re my wife. You belong next to me, not spread under Lucien fucking Moretti like some whore.”
My brain screams. Panic claws up my throat. This is the nightmare, the cage, the darkness I swore I’d never fall back into. “I’ll come home,” I choke, words warped by his grip. “Just—please—let go?—”
“You’ll do what you’re told.” He leans in, spittle hitting my cheek. “Promise me.”
“I promise,” I whisper. Lie. Lie. Lie. Just get out alive.
He yanks me upright, forcing my body against his. My lip throbs, blood dripping down my chin, staining my top. His hand clamps the back of my head, crushing my mouth against his.
The taste is foul, bitter, like drinking gasoline. I try to pull away, but his fingers dig into my scalp like hooks. “Kiss me,” he growls. “Beg.”
My pulse pounds so hard I feel dizzy. I force my lips to move because I know what happens when I don’t obey. I want to die. I want to kill him. I want to rip his throat out with my teeth. I want Lucien. God, I want Lucien. “Please,” I whisper against his mouth. “Forgive me.”
“There she is,” he says, voice smug and mocking with satisfaction. He presses another bruising kiss to my mouth, then steps back. “I’ll send a car tomorrow. Be ready. And if you try to run again—” His smile curves, slow and murderous. “You won’t like how it ends.” Then he turns and walks out. The stall door swings shut behind him, clanging hollowly.
For a moment, I can’t move. I slide down the cold tile wall, shaking so hard my teeth rattle. Blood drips from my split lip, spattering onto my blouse and jeans. My hands won’t stop trembling.
He found me. He got past security. He touched me. I let him. I kissed him. I’m sick. I’m weak. I’m terrified. I hate him. I hate myself.
