And yet—he straightened.
Despite the wounds and humiliation, Francesco lifted his head and walked away. Each step was agonizing, but there was something regal in the way he returned to the barn—dignity wrapped around him like armor, even as his blood soaked the earth behind him.
I ran. I couldn’t watch it anymore.
Back inside, I bolted up the stairs, flung myself onto my bed, and broke. I sobbed until my throat ached and my body shook.
The ceiling above me blurred with tears, and no matter how tightly I shut my eyes, Francesco’s face haunted me, ashen, expressionless, utterly betrayed.
I had done something unforgivable.
I had twisted truth into torment, destroyed a good man, and watched him bleed while I hid in the shadows.
And in the deepest corners of myself, I knew the most terrifying truth of all?—
For a fleeting, monstrous moment…
Ienjoyedit.
Now, alone in my small, suffocating room, I could only cradle my guilt as it hollowed me out from the inside.
There was no undoing it.
There was no escaping it.
Only the echo of Francesco’s curse…
And the silence that came after.
That evening, long after the sun had bled into the horizon, I slipped from the house again to seehim.
Tomaso.
My other lover.
Though young and inexperienced, I had fallen recklessly, foolishly in love with him. He was twenty-eight to my sixteen—seasoned, charming, worldly in ways that made me feel older than I was. When he spoke of politics, literature, or foreign affairs, I would hang onto every word, intoxicated by his voice and the illusion that I belonged in his world.
I rapped gently on the door to his townhouse, the familiar gilded knocker cool beneath my fingers. Without waiting, I let myself in.
“Alina,” he exclaimed, emerging from the drawing room with a warm smile, arms open. “I’ve missed you, my darling.”
He swept me into his embrace. The faint scent of pomade clung to the sleek, brushed ebony of his perfectly styled hair. His coat smelled faintly of sandalwood and smoke.
I melted into him. The morning’s horrors surged to the surface all over again.
“Oh, Tomaso…” I whispered through tears, my voice breaking. “Last night, I was attacked. The stable boy—Francesco. He molested me… it was awful.”
Tomaso stiffened, his expression contorting in shock and fury.
“My dear girl,” he said, voice heavy with concern. “That’s unthinkable. Did anyone see it? Did anyone help? Are you hurt?”
I shook my head, sniffling, leaning harder into his chest. “No one saw. Thank goodness… but it was terrifying. When Father confronted him, Francesco dared to lie—to say helovedme. That he wanted tomarryme.”
Tomaso’s arms tightened protectively around me.
“You poor thing,” he murmured, brushing a kiss to my temple. “What a vile little creature. To touch you… to think himself worthy…”
He led me into the drawing room, guiding me as though I might break.
