And yet, beneath the fear and shame, a spark of defiance lingered.
I may be broken here, but I would not let him see me fully crushed.
“Everyone has demons that haunt them at night.”
His voice came. Firm—but not cruel.
“It doesn’t define you. It’s nothing to be ashamed of.”
I didn’t respond.
My breathing stayed uneven beneath the fabric, the duvet muffling the sound but not calming it.
Each inhale felt too sharp. Each exhale too shaky.
The silence between us stretched.
Then—the mattress dipped.
Subtle.
But unmistakable.
He had moved. My entire body tensed instantly.
Muscles locking. Shoulders tightening.
Breath catching in my throat.
He was closer now.
Close enough that I could feel it— his presence.
His heat.
Radiating through the air, steady and unbothered.
But he didn’t touch me. Didn’t reach for me. Didn’t force anything.
Just sat there. On the edge of the bed.
“You have no friends. No family. Only a Greek mafia boss hunting you for five years, thirsting for revenge because you killed his sister.”
I lifted my head slightly from the duvet, voice low but steady.
“And a husband who has no regard for me,” I added, completing his thought.
He didn’t flinch.
“This husband of yours offers protection. Provision. Nothing more. Love... affection... I could not give you that. And I never will.”
His words cut deeper than any knife.
I shifted beneath the covers, then slowly pulled them down just enough to speak.
My throat was dry, voice hoarse.
“...Vincenzo... someday—maybe soon, maybe later—I’ll escape this marriage,” I said, each word deliberate. “And when I do... you will never find me.”
