What the hell is wrong with me?
Nico pulls back slowly. His expression changes in an instant, that raw hunger shutters away, replaced by the cold, controlled mask he usually wears.
He clears his throat. “We should get dressed,” he says, voice flat. “We need to head back.”
He helps me on my feet without another word. My legs are shaky, but I manage. I quickly pull on my dress, not even caring that it sticks to my wet skin.
He doesn’t look at me as we leave through the back entrance, avoiding the main club area.
The car ride home is silent.
He sits on the opposite side, staring out the window, jaw tight. The space between us feels like miles.
I keep replaying the way he touched me, the filthy things he whispered, how desperately I begged him not to stop… and now this cold silence.
Does he regret it?
The thought makes my stomach twist. Maybe he does. Maybe he’s already disgusted with himself for touching his prisoner like that.
When we finally arrive back at the estate, he doesn’t say a single word to me. He simply walks me to my bedroom, waits until I’m inside, then closes the door and locks it.
I stand in the middle of the room, still damp, body still humming from his touch… and I feel like a complete fool.
I let him have me like that. I opened for him. I moaned his name. I came so hard I saw stars. And now he’s treating me like I’m nothing again.
I press my forehead against the cool wood of the door, breathing shakily.
This can’t happen again.
I can’t let him cross that final line. If he fucks me… if I let him inside me… that will be the end. He’ll ruin me. Completely.
I need to get out of here.
I need to make sure my sisters are safe. I need to know Sienna is far away and happy.
I can’t keep letting Nico Lombardi pull me deeper into whatever this is. Because if I do… I’m terrified there won’t be anything left of me when it’s over.
CHAPTER TWENTY
Eleonora
It’s been two days since the pool incident, and I haven’t seen or heard from Nico once.
Every morning I go down to breakfast, telling myself I’m only going because I’m hungry, but the truth is I keep hoping he’ll be there. Sitting at the table, drinking his coffee, looking at me with those intense whiskey eyes. But he’s never there. The chair at the head of the table stays empty.
In the evenings, I linger as long as I can before going to bed, secretly waiting for the sound of his footsteps or the click of his bedroom door. Nothing. The light in his room never comes on.
I hate that I feel this way.
I hate that my chest feels tight and hollow every time I realize he might be avoiding me.
I don’t even know what I expected after what happened between us, but I didn’t expect him to ghost me inside his own damn house.
After the way he touched me, the way he made me come apart on his tongue and fingers… I thought we had crossed some kind of line. That maybe things between us would shift, even a little.
God, I’m such a fool.
I shouldn’t have let him get that close. I shouldn’t have moaned his name. I shouldn’t have begged him. Now I feel dirty and stupid and embarrassingly needy, and he’s probably regretting every second of it.
