Ihatethem.
I hate my father for making me believe in fairy tales while he lived a double life. I hate Riccardo for being just like him—charming and loving on the surface, rotten underneath.
But most of all, I hate myself.
For being so blind. So stupid. So desperate to believe in the lie.
The girl I was before is dead.
I mourned my father.
I mourned my brother.
But I never mournedher. That naive, trusting girl who thought love meant something in this world.
She deserved better than to be murdered by the truth.
I curl into myself on the floor, arms wrapped around my knees, forehead pressed against the carpet. The sobs keep coming. Wave after wave of grief and rage and a new feeling.
I was sad before.
Sad is easy. Sad is soft. Sad lets you remember the good times and pretend the bad ones don't matter.
But this? This burning, churning fury that's eating me alive?
This is different.
I lift my head. My reflection stares back at me from the mirror across the room. Mascara streaked down my cheeks. Eyes red and swollen. Hair a tangled mess.
I look like a disaster.
I look like someone who's finally stopped pretending.
"Enough." The word scrapes out of my throat. "Enough."
I push myself up from the floor. My legs shake, but they hold.
I'm done being the sad princess locked in her tower. Done being the grieving sister who can't move on.
I need to get strong.
I need to survive.
I grab my phone from where I dropped it. My hands are still shaking, but my grip is steady.
Amanda's contact stares up at me.
I hit call before I can talk myself out of it.
She answers on the second ring. "Babe! I was just thinking about you. Dylan wants to?—"
"Can you come over?" My voice sounds wrong. Hollow. Cracked.
Silence on the other end.
"Vittoria?" Amanda's tone shifts instantly. The bubbly energy vanishes. "What happened? Are you okay?"
"No." The word comes out small. Honest. "I'm not okay. I need... I need you here. Please."
