Silence filled the room. I shouldn’t have said anything. Definitely shouldn’t have stayed.
“Go back to sleep,” I said.
She laughed, a broken, disbelieving sound. “How?”
I didn’t have an answer. I stood up and left her in there, locking the door from the outside. I spent some time by the door, listening to her breathing even out again, quieter this time. Fragile, but steady. Guilt sat in my chest like something alive. Unfamiliar.Unwelcome.
Chiara Ventura was here because Iputher here. Because I said a few words, and her world folded in on itself. That wasn’t guilt. That was power.
I walked away abruptly, jaw tightening, forcing the unwelcome feelings down where they belonged. My fists tightened. The image of her, curled in on herself, begging for her siblings, followed me down the hallway.
Chapter Four: CHIARA
Foroneblissfulsecondafter I opened my eyes, I didn’t remember where I was.
The sheets were too silky. The room was too quiet. Pale morning light poured through walls of glass, turning everything silver and cold. It almost felt peaceful.
Then I saw the city.
Not the vast gardens outside my bedroom window at home. This skyline was too high, too wide, too far below me. My breath caught as everything came rushing back at once. The wedding, Papa, the lie, the blood on The Serpent’s mouth in the garden, the way that bastard looked at me, like I was already his.
I sat up too fast and pain tore across my back.
A broken sound left my throat. My ankle throbbed, my shoulders ached, and the bloody welts Papa’s belt left behind seemed to wake with me, burning under my skin like they remembered exactly how they got there.
I pressed a hand over my mouth and squeezed my eyes shut. I wanted to scream, but then that man would know I was awake, and he’d come for me.
This was all my fault.
One stupid, selfish choice.
One stupid night of pretending I could want something for myself.
I had wanted one taste of freedom. One night. One reckless little fantasy before Papa handed me over to some stranger old enough to be my grandfather.
Instead, I had walked into a nightmare wearing a mask and a maid’s dress.
My stomach roiled.
If I had stayed in my room, none of this would have happened. If I hadn’t gone to the ball, I never would have been bitten by a snake. I never would have met him. He never would have made up those lies about me. Papa never would have beaten me. Sienna would not have been crying. Aurora would not have looked at me like she already knew I was gone. And I’d be able to say goodbye to Matteo, at least…
A hot wave of shame flooded me so fast I thought I might be sick.
I threw the silk covers back and forced myself to stand. My ankle protested, sharp and ugly, but I welcomed the pain. I deserved it. Maybe I deserved even worse. I had ruined everything with one choice, and now I was stuck here with an infamous killer.
In his home. Nothisbed, at least. Notyet. Small mercies.
The thought hit me hard enough that I looked around the room again, properly this time. It was a beautiful, but sparsely decorated guest bedroom. A plush armchair with a matching vanity. Dresser, closets. An en-suite bathroom in all marble. Floor-to-ceiling windows. Beautiful. Luxurious. A prison for an unwilling bride.
My pulse started to climb. I crossed the room as fast as my ankle would let me and grabbed the door handle. Twisted it. Nothing happened.
I tried again, harder this time, rattling it until the metal bit into my palm. Locked. Ofcourseit was locked.
A laugh nearly came out of me, thin and cracking and wrong. Another gilded cage. Different walls. Same prison. Only this one sat in the sky.
I turned to the windows next, limping toward them. The city glittered beneath me, distant and indifferent. Cars crawled below like ants. People were somewhere down there, living their lives, drinking coffee, laughing, making choices that belonged to them.
I pressed trembling fingers to the glass. Too high. Too thick. No balcony. No ledge. No way down except throughhim.
