Page 32 of The Ruin I Chose

“Is it the one from the auction? The one who looked like she’d rather be anywhere else?”

I clenched my jaw.

“She’s just an acquaintance,” I said.

And the lie tasted like blood. Because every word betrayed her. And every silence buried me. Because she wasn’t an acquaintance. She was the ache in my chest. The silence in my bones. The only thing that felt real in months. And I’d erased her with a sentence.

Isabella’s smile faded. She leaned back, twirling her hair.

“You always did lie well,” she said. “But not to me.”

I didn’t respond. I knew word would get back to Lorenzo as is. I didn’t want him anywhere near Roxanne. I’d become the version of myself I swore I’d killed—cold, careless, transactional. The kind of man who didn’t deserve to touch Roxanne.

She already seemed shaken by his encounter in Florence. As long as it was in my power, I’d do whatever it took to keep her safe. It was the least I could do. Even if it meant letting her go. Even if it meant she’d never know what she meant to me.

It was 7:30 a.m. I hadn’t slept. I was tired of the games.

“I’m leaving, Isabella. I’ve wasted enough time.” I said, voice low, irritated.

She stretched, slow and deliberate.

“Oh, come on! Don’t you want the necklace? Let’s have breakfast, and then we can catch up on some sleep in my room upstairs.”

She held up the blue velvet box, toying with me. The bitch had it with her all this time. I felt the last thread of patience snap in my chest. I finally let irritation seep into my voice.

“I’m done playing games you’ve already lost at. Go fuck yourself.”

I didn’t care about the necklace anymore. I cared about what it symbolised. That I’d tried. That I’d failed. That I still wanted to be the man Roxanne thought I could be.

She laughed. “You know I don’t need the money. I just wanted your time. I fell for you—despite everything. You were too irresistible.”

She pushed the box towards me. I took it and said.

“Save the theatrics for Lorenzo.”

Without waiting for her response, I left, climbing into the car and ordering the driver to take me to the palazzo. I hoped I wasn’t too late. But when I arrived, she was gone. And the silence she left behind was louder than any goodbye.

It screamed. It clawed at the walls. It told me I’d fucked it all up. It echoed every word I should’ve said. Every touch I didn’t give. Every moment I let her feel alone. And I didn’t know if I’d ever get the chance to fix it.

A note was on the dresser. The necklace I’d given her for the auction lay on top. I read her words—they wrecked me. Each letter mocked my absence, each word bled through the silence I’d left behind. They didn’t just sting; they gutted me.

I had to get to her. To feel her beneath my hands again, to remind myself what it meant to hold her like she belonged to me—and to prove that I hadn’t forgotten the way possession had always felt, raw and urgent, when it was hers alone. Not to explain or beg, but to prove I still knew how to show up.

My hands were shaking. I didn’t know if it was rage or grief.

But I knew one thing—I couldn’t let her leave thinking I didn’t care. I had to get to her. Now.

CHAPTER 14

ROXANNE

The jet touched down at Catania–Fontanarossa Airport mid-morning.

Martin didn’t say much—just handed me a printed itinerary and offered a quiet nod. I thanked him, barely meeting his eyes. My cab was already waiting. It felt like Marcello had arranged an escort out of Rome just for the flight.

Maybe he needed space. Maybe he thought I did too. He hadn’t asked Martin to accompany me to the resort or to have anyone tail me. It felt like a goodbye disguised as logistics. Like he’d packed me off with a bow and called it care.

The drive south to Syracuse was quiet. Sicily in May was golden and warm; the kind of weather that made you believe in second chances. The sea shimmered in the distance, framed by cliffs and olive groves.