Sara
I don’t know how we’re going to catch up in school.
I can’t seem to drag myself out of bed without Dave here. And I miss you and Sienna.
Are you even coming back this semester?
Hello?
It’s a fair point. I don’t have any idea either on how I’m going to catch up on my courses. And I have no idea when or if I’ll return to Kansas City. The last time I set foot on campus feels like another life—like it happened to someone else entirely. A girl who still thought “home” meant a cheap apartment, a best friend, and a stack of overdue assignments.
I scroll until the words blur. Every photo, every name, every reminder of my old life feels like a knife twisting deeper.
Outside the window, Chicago’s skyline glitters in the distance. It’s beautiful, cold, and untouchable. And here I am, in Lorenzo Conti’s room, breathing air that doesn’t feel like it belongs to me.
I drop my phone onto the nightstand and sink back against the pillows, staring at the ceiling.
“God, I hate this,” I whisper into the quiet.
But the truth I can’t admit is that I don’t know if I hate him for keeping me here or myself for feeling safer than I should.
I’m deep in thought when the door swings open so hard it rattles the frame.
Francesca strides in like she owns the place—like she ownshim—and the glare she fixes on me could peel paint.
“You’re certainly playing this up, aren’t you?” she says, her tone sharp enough to cut glass. Her hand makes a dismissive gesture toward the bed. “Why, you’ve practically moved into my room.”
Herroom.
The claim makes me want to laugh. There’s nothing in this space that belongs to her. Not the dark wood furniture, not the faint scent of leather and smoke, not the quiet weight that seems to hum in the air. Everything here screamshim.
But I bite my tongue.
“It wasn’t my choice,” I say, keeping my voice even.
“And yet here you are.”
The words land heavier than I expect, because she’s not wrong. I should’ve insisted harder about moving back to my own room days ago. I should’ve reminded Lorenzo that I’m not his responsibility. But every time I tried, he had a way of firmly shutting the conversation down.
I push the plush bedding back, bracing my palms on the mattress to stand.
“Oh, don’t get up now.” Her lips twist into a cruel smile. “He’ll think I said something to upset you.”
I don’t bother to point out that she did.
“When are you going to stop preying on his kind heart and return home?”
That does it.
“I know you may not believe me,” I say quietly, “but Iwantto go home. Mr. Conti has forbidden it though.”
“Forbade,” she corrects with a smug lift of her brow, then huffs a laugh that sounds more like a bark. “Let me handle him. If I were you, I’d start packing.”
She turns sharply and leaves, her perfume lingering in the air long after the door slams behind her.
For a long moment, I just stand there, heart pounding, staring at the empty doorway.
Then, slowly, I whisper, “You know what she’s right.”
