I don’t answer. I’m already turning away, already walking back into the house like I’m being chased by something invisible. Not him—but myself.
And the shadow that isn’t there anymore.
I don't go into the dining room, where laughter and voices drift out. Instead, I turn to the left, where an open archway leads into my mamma's sitting room. The piano is there, as are all my other instruments, as well as hers. All untouched for years now.
The room is dark, just what I need. I need to… a small gasp escapes me when a shadow moves in a corner. My heart hammers in my throat until I recognize Raffael, then it plops down into my stomach and creates another pulse… lower. He sees me and stops moving. But I keep going, like a piece of metal drawn to a magnet.
"Congratulations," Raffael says when I’m close enough to hear. His voice is low and rough, as if he's trying to keep his emotions in check.
"You knew," I whisper. It’s not a question. It’s an accusation. One he doesn’t answer.
I step closer. My heart moves back up into my chest and pounds now, not from romance, but rage. "Did you stand there, like that, while they auctioned me off? Did you clap?"
His jaw tightens. "You should be out there with your fiancé."
I laugh, but it’s soft, bitter. "Why? Because someone might see us? You afraid of my father?"
"No." A pause. "I’m afraid of you."
That stuns me. "What?"
"You make me forget what I am," he says, keeping his voice low. "And what you’re not allowed to be."
The silence stretches. Thick and sharp.
"I don’t want him," I whisper. "I don’t want this."
He looks at me then. Really looks. "I know."
"Then help me."
His jaw sets. "Not yet."
That breaks me. "Then you're just like them."
I blink back tears and nod once, like a queen dismissing her executioner. I turn around and walk away, holding my chin high.
A few weeks later…
One night, I see them kissing, and I want to kill him. It costs me every shred of restraint not to move. Not to put a bullet between his eyes and drag her away before anyone notices. Just the thought of him breaking her innocence infuriates me. His hands on her infuriate me. The way he looks at her like she’s already his, like he earned her—as if he suffered for her, bled for her, fought for her—that infuriates me most. All her kisses should be mine. I kissed her first. I slam my palm against a column, relishing in the sting of the pain. But it doesn't last long, not nearly long enough, before the ever-present ache in my heart takes over.
I should go over there, put my fist into his arrogant face, and take Sophia away from here. But what stops me cold is the way she melts into him. That's something I hadn’tconsidered. Her falling for him. Her actually being happy in an arranged marriage.
It feels like my heart’s being torn from my chest, muscle by muscle, vein by vein. And I hate myself for it because I havenoclaim.Noright. I kissed her, yes, but I never told her what I felt for her. I stood in the shadows like a coward while she waited for someone who never came. I thought I was protecting her. But maybe I was just afraid.
Watching her in his arms—smiling, soft, his—makes me realize something I’ve been trying to suppress.
I want her.
Not just her body. Not just her light.
I want the life I could’ve had with her if I’d been someone else. Someone real. Someone with a name that opened doors instead of someone else's trunk. Someone who didn’t need permission to stand at her side.
I want to be the man she reaches for.
But I’m not.
I’m a shadow. A tool. A made man with no bloodline, no legacy, no real future. Just a vault of secrets and a ledger full of names, all crossed out in red. So I stand there. And I watch her kiss him. And I lie to myself. I tell myself that if she can find peace in this world, even with him, I should be glad. I should be relieved.
