I didn’t argue. I didn’t need to, because I believed her.
My gaze moved over her again, slower now, more deliberate, tracing the tension, the anger, the humiliation still lingering in the air between us. And beneath it, the marks I’d already committed to memory.
Her father had hurt her. Repeatedly. I’d make sure no one else suffered because of him again.
“That man last night,” I said quietly, “he thought he could touch you.”
Her jaw tightened. “He barely did before you killed him in cold blood.”
“He still thought he could.” I stepped closer again, close enough to see the way her breathing shifted, the faint flush still lingering on her skin. “He was wrong. Hurting you had consequences.”
Her pulse jumped.
“And now I know,” I added, letting the words settle with intention, “that no one else has claimed you before me.”
Her breath caught. “I could have told you that myself.”
“But why?” I smirked. “This was so much more fun for me.”
“You’re sick,” she whispered.
“Maybe.” No point denying the obvious. My hand lifted slightly, hovering near Chiara’s face without touching, close enough that she felt it anyway. “In case you haven’t noticed, I don’t share what’s mine.”
Her eyes dropped for a fraction of a second before snapping back up, defiance fighting through everything else.
“Are you pleased now?” she asked, her voice shaking. “You’ve taken everything from me. Even my dignity.”
I held her gaze. Watched her try to hold onto control that didn’t belong to her anymore.
“I am not pleased,” I said calmly. “I’m not happy my fiancée keeps secrets from me. Like those welts on your back. You know I’ll make him pay for those, don’t you?”
The certainty in it landed harder than anything else. She stilled.
“You don’t know what you’re talking about,” she said weakly.
“Do you really think I’m so stupid?” I hissed. “The only person who could have put them there is your father. That slimy, red-faced little traitor will pay for it in blood. That, I promise you.”
Chiara paled. But this time… she didn’t argue.
Chapter Eight: CHIARA
WhenIwokeup,the first thing I remembered was the engagement ring Leo Moretti had put on my finger. While I was still in the plush bed, I stared at the huge stone, glittering in the morning light. There was no doubt it was a priceless piece of jewelry, but it was still one I didn’t want.
Once I got up, something felt off, and I knew something was wrong the moment I saw the bedroom door half-open.
It shouldn’t have been. It never was. The door sat there, still, untouched, like it had been waiting for me to notice it, like it had been left that way on purpose. I didn’t move at first. Just stood there, staring at it, my pulse beginning to climb in slow, careful beats.
Nothing about Leo Moretti was careless. Which meant this wasn’t, either. Clearly it was a test.
I took a step forward anyway. The floor felt colder beneath my bare feet than it should have, grounding me, reminding me this was real. Another step. The air felt thinner the closer I got, like a noose was tightening around me, warning me without words.
My fingers hovered over the handle, so close. Just one movement and just one decision. Would he punish me for it?
“Thinking about it?” Leo’s voice slid through the room like a blade.
I froze. He was inches away, in the hallway, staring at me through the gap in the door. His arms were loose at his sides, his attention fixed entirely on me. Watching. Always watching, controlled and measured. Like every second had already been calculated.
He pushed the door open. “Come out.”
