As if reading my mind, Kayla continues, “He didn’t know, El. No one did.”
The anger drains out of me, leaving behind something raw and aching. “He…didn’t?”
“No,” Vittoria says. “And I’m sure Lucian will make sure I regret that for eternity.”
My heartbeat stutters. I want to cry with relief and…something else. Guilt. Confusion. The betrayal I thought I felt was…misplaced. Lucian hadn’t lied. He hadn’t manipulated. All this time, I’d thought he had kept Kayla from me, used her as a lever. But he hadn’t. He hadn’t even known.
My head pounds. How many other things had I doubted him for, misread him? And now, even in this relief, the anger lingers, but it’s at myself. For thinking him capable of a cruelty he never committed.
For falling right into Santiago’s trap.
Kayla’s mouth curves into a small, certain smile. “I’m happy, El, and you deserve to be, too.” She lifts her chin. “I know you love Lucian and he loves you, just like I love Vittoria.”
It’s hard to believe at first. Vittoria isn’t built for softness. She’s all sharp edges and violence wrapped in silk, the kind of creature that doesn’t bend for anyone. For her, loving anyone other than herself feels…impossible.
But then Vittoria looks at Kayla.
It’s subtle, but her gaze eases, just a fraction. The hard line of her mouth softens. Her thumb brushes Kayla’s knee in a quiet, grounding way, like she’s anchoring herself there. Not ownership. Not control.
Care.
Something in my chest loosens.
Maybe this isn’t a cage. Maybe it never was.
And if my best friend is truly happy, if this strange, dangerous world is where she’s found her peace, then I can accept it.
All I can do is hope that, after everything, there’s still room for me and Lucian in that world, too.
Chapter
Sixteen
Lucian
The office is quiet, too quiet. Papers litter my desk, contracts half-signed, notes I haven’t read, all meaningless. I shuffle through them anyway. A ritual, a thin excuse to feel productive while my mind is somewhere else.
Since Elliot left, I’ve been…adrift. Every time I think about leaving this office, tracking her down, pulling her back into my arms, I stop myself. I can’t. If I go after her now, I confirm every hateful thought she has about me. That I manipulate, that I control, that I use her.
I hate this. I hate the ache. I hate that I can’t fix it. But I love her. I love her so damn much it hurts like fire beneath my ribs. And that—more than anything—is the part I can’t control.
There’s a knock on the door.
I groan, already knowing who it is.
“Vittoria, leave me the fuck alone.” I continue to shift through the scattered papers, the words blurring into nothingness.
The knock comes again, this time louder and more insistent. I grit my teeth. “I said leave?—”
The door swings open anyway. I don’t look up at first, assuming it’s Vittoria in one of her sour moods, until a familiar voice cuts through the quiet of the office.
“I’m here for the interview.”
My head snaps up. My eyes find her, and for a moment the world tilts. Even dressed simply, in clothes that shouldn’t compete with the way she takes my breath, she’s beautiful. Golden curls, clear blue eyes, a look of innocence that I know hides a sharp wit and fiery attitude. Every nerve in me ignites.
“Monty…” I breathe her name.
“I heard there was an opening for Mr. Vale’s assistant,” she says with a small smirk. And I can’t help it, a smile curls my lips, too.
