The doctor worked in silence for a moment longer before his hands paused slightly. Something had caught his attention.
“Signorina,” he said carefully, “I need you to relax.”
“I am relaxed,” Chiara hissed.
“You’re not,” he replied gently, though there was tension in his tone now.
Her body resisted anyway, but not enough to stop him. The doctor pulled up the shirt she was wearing over her back, exposing welts. Some of them old, some of them fresher. My hands formed fists. I hadn’t seen those yet, because she was still hiding her body from me. I’d seen shapes of her Papa’s fingers, bruised around her wrist, but not this.
Those thin, angry lines shouldn’t have been there at all.
“Were you treated for these?” the doctor asked Chiara quietly.
“No,” she spat out.
His gaze lifted to her face, searching. “Do you know how you got them?”
“Yes, I’m not an idiot,” she replied.
“And?”
Her shoulders went rigid. “It doesn’t matter.”
The room shifted. Not visibly. But we all felt it.
The doctor hesitated, then glanced at me briefly before returning his attention to her. “If there’s been repeated trauma…”
“There hasn’t,” she cut in, sharper now. Her pulse was visible at her throat, her breathing shallow.
Lying. Not well enough.
I said nothing. I watched. Memorized.
The placement of every mark. The way she held herself, like she was trying to hide what couldn’t be undone. The difference between the newer, still bloody bruising and the older scars, faint but unmistakable under the light.
Someone had put their hands on her before I could stop them. The thought settled in quietly. Dangerously.
I couldn’t stand to be in the room anymore. The thought of someone, likely her father, beating his own, beautiful daughter like that, made me enraged. I stood abruptly, walking out of the room and slamming the door shut behind me. I didn’t even bother to lock it.
In the living area, I paced the room. Originally, I wanted to be with Chiara for the full exam. I trusted the doctor, but a part of me wanted to see her squirm. After I saw the welts though, I could barely contain my anger.
When the doctor finally reappeared, it felt like eons later. I looked at him expectantly.
“She’s untouched,” he said.
The words fell into the room with quiet certainty. For a moment, nothing moved. Then something in my chest tightened, sharp, immediate, and deeply satisfying.
Of course she was untouched. I knew that, didn’t I?
Maybe I had to admit to myself this exam wasn’t about her being a virgin. Maybe I just wanted to confirm my doubts about her father, and how he treated his children. I nodded once.
“I’ve left some salve for the bite, and some scar fading cream for her back.” The doctor shifted uncomfortably. “SignoreMoretti, if I may… Some of those scars are old. She got them before she was a teenager.”
Fury pulsed through my heart. I nodded, and showed the doctor out after paying him handsomely. All my fears came true. And now I knew Chiara was about to hate me a lot more than she already did, because I already knew without a doubt, I was going to kill her father for what he’d done.
The door closed behind the doctor with a soft click, leaving us alone in the penthouse again. Chiara was waiting by the time I got back to her bedroom, her back to the window. She stood there, arms wrapped around herself, holding something together that had already started to crack.
“You’re unbelievable,” she said finally, her voice low, trembling with something she refused to let spill over. “That was the most humiliating thing I’ve ever had to do.”
