The words hung between us.
I didn’t wait for a response.
Instead, I merged onto the road, turning in the opposite direction from the estate.
Not toward home. Not toward him.
The coastal road stretched ahead of me—wide, open, endless.
So I took it.
No plan. No destination.
Just movement.
After four weeks trapped within concrete walls, and barely four days in his home, I realized I needed this: driving through the city, just taking it all in with my eyes.
The windows were down.
Warm wind rushed into the car, whipping through my hair, tugging at my clothes.
Palm trees lined the road in dark silhouettes against the fading sky, their leaves swaying in the evening breeze.
The sky burned in soft oranges and purples as the sun dipped lower.
I drove.
Hands steady.
Letting the rhythm of the engine, the hum of the tires, and the movement of the road ground me.
Vincenzo exhaled—long and weary—like he was already exhausted with the conversation.
“Fine,” he said finally. “Such an act will not be repeated.”
A pause.
“Now tell me where you are... my men are having a hard time locating you.”
Of course.
His men were already trying to track the SUV.
I almost laughed.
A short, quiet sound that held no real humor.
“It’ll happen again. And again. A thousand times. Violet controls you, and you’ll obey her every whim. Stop pretending you can keep promises. You can’t. It’s revolting.”
The words slipped out of me before I could stop them—quiet, bitter, edged with everything I was trying not to feel.
A pause.
Then—
“Elena,” he said, softer now, something new threading through his voice.
“Not knowing where you are... it’s tearing me apart. I can’t lie to you anymore. You deserve the truth.”
