"I promise."
I nod, feeling some small piece of myself settle back into place. Maybe I don't know what I need or want in the big picture, butI know this much: I don't want to become a monster, even for justice.
"I need to be alone now," I say. "I need to try to figure out who I am when no one is watching, when no one is conditioning me, when no one needs anything from me."
"How long?"
"I can't say. Maybe days. Maybe weeks. Maybe forever."
"And if you decide you can't forgive me? If you decide you want nothing to do with me?"
"Then you let me go. Completely. No following, no protecting, no checking up on me." I pause. "I know Lorenzo is still out there. I know it might be dangerous. But if I decide to leave, you let me go. Even if it scares you."
He nods, though I can see what the promise costs him. "Anything else?"
"Stop lying to me. About everything, no matter how ugly the truth is. I'd rather be hurt by honesty than comforted by lies."
"Done."
"And Renato?"
"Yes?"
"If I decide to stay, if I decide I want to try to figure out what we could be together... it won't be because I've forgiven you. It'll be because I've decided you're worth the damage you've done."
"I understand."
"I hope you do. Because I'm not the same person you kidnapped from that cathedral. That woman died somewhere between the training sessions and the auction that never was. Whoever I am now, whoever I become... she's going to be harder, colder, more dangerous than the woman you thought you wanted."
"I'll take whatever version of you I can get."
"You say that now. But you might not like who I become."
I head for the stairs, leaving him standing in the salon.
I don't know what I need, what I want, or who I'm becoming.
But I'm going to find out without anyone else pulling the strings.
Chapter 34: Renato
I can't remember the last time I slept.
My study feels like a cage, every familiar object a reminder of the control I've built my life around. The expensive scotch tastes like shit. The leather chair where I've made a thousand calculated decisions feels foreign. Even the view of the lake that usually centers me now seems like a mockery. All that beauty and peace just beyond reach.
She's been upstairs for six hours. Six hours of silence while I slowly lose my mind in the space below.
I reach for my phone, open the security app, and stare at the blank screen where her room used to appear. I had the cameras removed this morning—all of them. No more surveillance, no more watching her sleep, no more monitoring her every move.
It was the right thing to do. The necessary thing.
But now I have no way of knowing if she's alright.
I pour a scotch and force myself to sit, but my leg bounces involuntarily. Every instinct I have is screaming at me to do something. Go upstairs, check on her, make sure she's safe, convince her to forgive me, find some way to fix what I've broken.
But that's exactly what got us here in the first place. My need to dominate everything, to manipulate every outcome, to ensure I got what I wanted regardless of the cost to her.
The irony is suffocating. For weeks, I had complete authority over her life, and I used it to destroy the thing I wanted most. Now, when she's finally free to choose, I'm the one trapped—by my own conscience, by her very reasonable need for space, by the terrifying possibility that she might choose to walk away forever.
