Page 44 of The Kingpin’s Bride

Her sobs only grew louder. She curled as much as the leash allowed, one hand pressed over her mouth, the other clutching the black sheet like it could hide her. Tears dripped onto the open pages of the diary. The most beautiful girl in the world, was breaking in real time on my bed.

I reached down and caught her chin, forcing those wet blue eyes up to mine.The tears kept falling. Her full lips trembled. The long wavy hair stuck to her damp cheeks. She was exquisite even in collapse. Especially in collapse.

I had told myself I would take the collar off after the first confirmed pregnancy. For now, it was strategic. Clean. A visible reminder of ownership until the seat was locked. Tonight the leather looked wrong on her throat.

I let go of her chin. “Look at me, Rena, okay?”

She did, barely. The sobs had gone quiet in that dangerous way, too much air, not enough of it reaching her. Her pulse jumped under the collar. I could see it.

“I’m taking this thing off.”

Her eyes flicked to the collar like she expected a trick. I worked the buckle with both hands, slower than I had any right to be, thumb bracing the leather so it wouldn’t scrape the raw line already there. The clasp gave. The collar opened.

I pulled it away from her skin and set it on the nightstand. The red band around her throat looked worse without the leather covering it. I cursed myself for leaving it on so long.

“Breathe for me.”

She tried. It broke in the middle. I sat on the edge of the bed. Not on it with her. Close enough to reach, far enough that I was not climbing into the sheets. She clutched the black linen like it could hide her.

“Tell me what you need,” I said. “Water. A doctor. The lights off. I will do it. What can I do?”

“Leave me alone.” The words came out raw. No performance in them. Just a girl who had run out of places to put the night.

I stayed where I was.

“I can do that,” I said. “In a minute. First you eat something.”

I crossed to the dresser, opened the small box I put there for her,, and brought it back. Dark chocolate. The expensive kind with the gold foil. Bonbons. I set the box on the duvet within reach and nudged it once with two fingers.

“Two. Then I walk out.”

She stared at the box like it had insulted her. “I don’t want candy.”

“I didn’t ask if you wanted it. Your blood sugar is going to drop and you are already shaking,” I said. “Please, eat.”

She took one with fingers that still trembled and bit it in half like she resented the sugar for working. I watched her throat move. Watched her take the second because fighting me on chocolate was a smaller war than the one she did not have the air for.

“The diary is open,” I said.

Her gaze cut to the wet pages. Fresh tears had already warped the ink.

“Don’t.”

“Write in it.”

“I said leave me alone,” Morena said, mouth full of chocolate.

“I heard you.” I kept my voice level. The hole under my ribs made it harder than it should have been. “You can tell me to get out. You can hate the sound of my voice. You should still write it down before it turns into something you carry in your body all night. Dates. What hurt. What you want to forget. Put it on the page so it is not only in your head.”

She shoved the diary toward the far edge of the mattress.

“It’s stupid.”

“It isn’t.” I stood.

Gave her the space she had asked for, even if every ugly instinct I owned wanted to stay and watch her breathe. “You lived through Dario. You can live through writing four sentences about a bad night. You really should. Not for me. For the version of you that has to wake up in this room tomorrow.”

She didn’t answer. She pulled the black sheet higher and turned her face away, chocolate foil crumpled in her fist. I left the box where it was. Water on the nightstand. Collar off. Door not locked.