I walked to the window, my breath hitching as I stared out at the sprawling estate. It was on the edge of a cliff. The view from the window was cruel. The endless waves hurled themselves against the jagged rocks as if wanting to wash me along. Beyond them, the horizon stretched infinitely. My lids broadened as I looked at the back to find the forest. Even the sky was grey and brooding.
Beauty, I realized, could be a far greater prison than these walls.
This wasn’t an island, but it wasn’t Italy either. I swallowed hard, staggering back, and my reflection stared back at me in the glass. Of a woman I barely recognized. Swollen eyes and face, pale and drawn. I looked defeated.
And in some sense, I was.
Because he had won. The man I didn’t even know the name of. The nightmare I was fucking married to. He had stripped me of every ounce of power, every piece of control I thought I had. He knew things about me I hadn’t even told the people I loved. He knew me better than I knew myself.
I slammed my fist against the window, hoping for pain to take him away from my thoughts.
I hated him. God, I hated him.
But what scared me most wasn’t the hatred.
It was the part of me that feared I would never escape him.
A sharp, bitter laugh escaped my lips, cracking halfway through as it dissolved into a sob. This couldn’t be real. But it was.
I turned away from the window, pacing the room like a caged animal, my breath coming in sharp, erratic gasps. My chest ached.
I needed to feel something, anything, other than the crushing despair suffocating me.
My gaze darted to the bedside table, where an ornate vase filled with fresh flowers sat like a cruel mockery of beauty. Without thinking, I grabbed it, the delicate porcelain cool against my trembling hands as I slammed it on the floor with a gut-wrenching scream.
But even that wasn’t enough.
I moved to the vanity, sweeping everything off with one violent motion. Perfume bottles, jewellery boxes, and trinketsclattered to the floor, some breaking, others rolling away into the corners of the room. My reflection in the mirror taunted me, the twisted face of a woman who had nothing left to lose.
“You ruined me!” I screamed again as I shredded everything I could get my hands on. “You ruined everything, you fucking monster!”
When my energy drained, my knees buckled, and I sank to the floor amidst the wreckage, the cold shards of porcelain and glass biting into my skin. But I didn’t care. The physical pain was nothing compared to the storm raging inside me.
I wrapped my arms around myself, rocking back and forth as sobs wracked my body. I felt like I was falling apart, piece by piece, and there was no one to catch me.
He knew everything. My father. My childhood. My friends. My fears. He had peeled me open like a book, reading every hidden chapter, every secret I thought was buried deep. How could someone know so much and still be so cruel?
I buried my face in my hands. There was no escape. No way out. He had trapped me in his web, and now, all I could do was wait for him to pull the strings tighter.
I cried for what felt like hours. I didn’t even realise when I lost consciousness, but when I felt the cold seeping into my veins and stiffness in my body, I stirred.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Punishment
I pried open my eyes with difficulty. The window was open, no curtains draped, and the warm sun rays fell upon my face. I groaned and looked around. The room was a mess as far as I remembered. My throat was raw from crying, and my eyes were puffy and burning. I felt hollow, like the shell of someone I used to be. But even in the stillness, I could feel him.
My gaze flickered to the door, half-expecting him to storm in at any moment, to continue his twisted game.
I sat up slowly, wincing as pain shot through my stiff body. My muscles ached from how tightly I had curled in on myself the night before.
A knock at the door shattered my thoughts, making me jump. My heart slammed against my ribs as the door creaked open.
Elena stepped in. I swallowed hard as she took in the scene. Her eyes widened slightly before she put on her stoic expression. “Mr. Vitale requests your presence in the dining room.”
“Requests?” I muttered bitterly. “He’s not actually asking.”
She didn’t reply, keeping her eyes trained on the floor. Of course, she wouldn’t. She worked for him. They all did.
