Chapter 19

Zara’s POV

I didn’t stop walking until I was safely away from that corridor.

My pulse hammered in my ears as I stormed down the hall, my hands clenched so tightly at my sides my nails bit into my palms. I didn’t look back. I refused to give him the satisfaction of seeing me hesitate, of seeing how shaken I actually was.

Anger carried me forward, alongside the humiliation I felt from what had just happened.

The way he had pinned me to the wall which felt cold against my back. His body leaning too close, his voice low and commanding like I was something he could corner and control all at once. Almost like I didn’t have a choice.

I pushed through my bedroom door and slammed it shut so hard the walls rattled as the sound echoed loud enough for one down the hallway to hear.

I leaned my forehead against the door for a moment, breathing hard. My chest rose and fell too fast, my heart still racing as I’d just run from something dangerous, which, I realized bitterly, I had.

“Asshole,” I muttered.

I crossed the room and kicked off my shoes, not caring where they landed. My bed looked untouched and surprisingly too neat. I dropped onto it anyway, staring at the ceiling as Matteo’s face replayed in my mind against my will.

His eyes. The way they’d searched mine when he leaned in—the warning in his voice when he spoke those damn words.

My stomach twisted. I hated him for making me feel small. I hated him even more for making me feel anything at all.

****************************

Hours passed.

The anger dulled into something heavier, settling into my bones. I showered, letting hot water wash over me until my skin felt better, until the tension in my shoulders eased just a fraction. I pulled on soft clothes and paced the room, unable to sit still for long.

Trying to wrap my head around what they were arguing about earlier and why it felt like I had heard something so important. Which I wasn't supposed to even hear in the first place.

My phone buzzed on the bed seconds later, cutting me off from my train of thought. I looked over my screen and realized it was a text from Sofia.

Sofia: Party tonight. Off-campus. You’re coming.

I stared at the message in silence, and then another buzz sounded.

Sofia: No excuses. You need this.

I didn’t even hesitate, I just texted back. Knowing exactly what could get him pissed. Going against Matteo’s rules.

Me: I’m in.

The decision felt reckless and good at the same time and I loved it.

I needed noise. Lights. Music. Anything that wasn’t the quiet oppression of this house or the memory of Matteo’s voice wrapping around me like a chain.

I opened my closet and stared at the clothes hanging neatly inside. Daytime Zara lived in jeans and neutral tops, hair pulled back, minimal effort. Safe and almost invisible.

But tonight, I didn’t want safe. I reached for the black dress without thinking.

It was short, fitted, and cut just low enough to feel daring without being desperate. I paired it with heels I hadn’t worn since before Italy. I let my hair down, dark waves falling freely over my shoulders.

When I looked at myself in the mirror, I barely recognized the girl staring back. Which was just what I needed.

I grabbed my bag and headed downstairs, as I ignored the thoughts in my head.

Marco apparently was near the entrance, keys in hand, clearly not expecting me to appear dressed like this. His eyes widened slightly before he caught himself.

“Miss Zara,” he said cautiously, “where are you going?”

“A party,” I replied simply.

He hesitated. “Matteo said—”

“I don’t care what Matteo said,” I cut in, my voice leaving no room for argument. “You’re my driver. Take me.”

He shifted uncomfortably. “I’m not supposed to—”

But I stepped closer, this time meeting his gaze. “I’m not asking.”

The silence stretched between and then finally, he sighed. “Fine. But if he asks—”

“I’ll handle it.”

The drive to the party minutes later felt different tonight as the city pulsed with life, lights blurring past, music from passing cars bleeding into the air. I tapped my fingers against my thigh, anticipation buzzing through me.

A couple of minutes later, we pulled up outside the venue, music thumping through the walls, laughter spilling onto the street as expected.

“Text me when you’re ready,” Marco said reluctantly.

“I will,” I responded, stepping out of the car.

Inside, the atmosphere hit me all at once. The heat, sound, and movements. Bodies packed together, lights flashing, bass vibrating through the floor and into my bones.

Sofia spotted me immediately when I walked in and her mouth fell open.

“Oh. My. God,” she shouted over the music. “Zara.”

I smiled for the first time all evening and she pulled me into a hug. “You look insane.”

“I needed a reset,” I said, flipping my hair to the side.

“Well, consider this a hard reboot. Come along,”

As we moved deeper into the crowd, I felt eyes on me. Lingering glances, curious stares. Whispers followed in as well.

But surprisingly this time I didn’t shrink from them. If anything, I lifted my chin higher.

I danced with Sofia, letting the music drown out my thoughts. Letting the rhythm pull me away from everything I didn’t want to feel. Sweat slicked my skin, laughter bubbled out of me unexpectedly.

For a while, Matteo didn’t exist but then a familiar presence settled behind me. I felt it before I heard him.

And almost instantly, a voice I know I have heard before brushed my ear.

“Didn’t think you were the party type.”

Without wasting time, I turned to find Alex from school smiling down at me, eyes bright with interest.

I arched a brow. “You don’t know my types.”

He laughed softly staring back at me, then held out a hand.

“Wanna dance?”