The thought anchored me, even as my body shook.
Somewhere between the pain and exhaustion, sleep took me without warning, pulling me under.
Chapter 16
ELENA
The next morning arrived too soon—sharp, like it had been waiting to drag me back into a world I wasn’t ready to face.
I stood in front of the full-length mirror in the guest room, my reflection staring back at me with quiet, hollow eyes.
The Black Veil Society academy uniform fit too perfectly, too neatly, as though nothing in my life had unraveled in the past four weeks.
The navy blazer sat crisply over my white blouse.
The fabric was clean, and structured.
I smoothed the blazer down over my torso anyway, pressing my palms over the seams as if I could smooth something inside myself in the same way.
The skirt fell just above my knees—modest, controlled, appropriate.
Deceptively so.
Because beneath it, wrapped in gauze and hidden from sight, my knees throbbed dully.
A constant, quiet ache that never fully left me.
Every movement reminded me of it.
Every step. Every shift of weight.
I adjusted the strap of my black backpack over one shoulder, forcing my posture straight, forcing myself to look like someone untouched by everything I had endured.
Then I stepped into the corridor.
It had been four weeks since the ridge.
Four weeks since Vincenzo banished me from his bed and sentenced me to sleep alone.
Four weeks of waking to the same unfamiliar warmth that lingered in my dreams—his scent, his heat, his unwanted presence haunting me even when he kept his distance.
He hated himself for still wanting me.
I saw the signs everywhere.
He lingered outside my door at odd hours, posture rigid, as if fighting the impulse to step inside.
When I caught him, he would turn sharply and disappear without a word, shoulders tight with self-disgust.
He entered rooms I occupied and immediately looked furious with himself for doing so.
His eyes would find me, darken, then slide away like the sight of me disgusted him—because it did, and because he couldn’t stop looking.
Twice I woke to him standing at the foot of my bed in the dark, fists clenched so hard the knuckles were white.
He never spoke.
He simply stared, breathing controlled and angry, before walking out like being near me was a punishment he inflicted on himself.
