Maford city

By the time she turned back, Lorenzo was climbing the stairs. He didn’t look at her so she quietly followed behind.

At the end of the hall, he opened a carved wooden door and stepped aside, waiting. His voice was low, almost lazy. “Our room.”

Nora froze. Our room? The words sank like ice.

Lorenzo stood by the open door, casual in the way a lion yawns before it pounces. “I didn’t stutter,” he added, glancing over his shoulder.

Nora’s spine straightened. “We’re not married.”

He tilted his head. “The priest might disagree.”

Her jaw clenched.

She stepped inside anyway, slow and cautious, like the floor might swallow her.

The room was nothing like she expected. Warm. Dim lighting, soft leather, rich wood. A fireplace crackled low, and wide windows offered a view of the city that felt worlds away.

It was a trap. A beautiful one.

She stood stiffly in the center, arms crossed.

Lorenzo closed the door, locking it with a click that echoed too loud. He walked past her, unbuttoning his jacket and shrugging it off. He rolled up his sleeve, revealing his strong arm and his dangerous tattoo. It was an eagle's tattoo.

He didn’t speak. Just poured a drink from the mini bar, leaned against it, and sipped slowly. Nora stared at his tattoo for a while. Lorenzo never had a tattoo on his arm, only on his back. Did he get one recently? She thought.

Lorenzo noticed she’d been staring at his arm for a while now. “Is this the first time you’re seeing someone with a tattoo?” he asked, raising his eyebrows.

Nora gulped hard. “S-Sorry,” she stammered.

Lorenzo’s smile was dark and cold, it was more of a smirk. He slowly walked toward Nora, looking at her intently. All Nora could see was hatred, anger, and disgust.

She immediately turned away from him, pretending to study the fireplace instead of letting him see her trembling hands.

He frowned, looking at her face. “What made you pull the trigger on me?” he suddenly asked, making Nora step back fearfully. She never imagined a day like this would come. She opened her mouth to answer, but no words came out. Her legs were shaking, freezing in fear.

“You hate me that much?” he asked another question.

“I f**king gave you everything, Nora!” he said, raising his voice high.

Nora was shivering with fear as tears rolled down her cheeks.

“I treated you well!” Lorenzo shouted, hate burning in his eyes.

“You treated me like trash, like a slut,” Nora suddenly shouted back.

Lorenzo angrily grabbed her neck. Her legs were suddenly in the air with one swift motion. She was struggling, hitting his hands, but it didn’t have any effect on him.

“Because you're a f**king bitch. A stripper, a goddamn slut!” he said angrily, hardening his hand on her neck. Nora was struggling hard to breathe. Then Lorenzo suddenly let her go, as if he was just remembering something, and she fell to the ground and collapsed. Lorenzo bent down and touched her neck to make sure she was still alive, but she was still breathing faintly.

He went over to the mini bar, finished the drink in one motion, setting the glass down with a soft clink. Then went out ,the door slammed behind him, the sound slicing through the quiet corridor. He exhaled slowly, forcing his pulse to even out. Losing control, even for a second, was a mistake he couldn’t afford.

He walked to the end of the hall and stopped by the railing, watching the guards move outside like shadows. Every piece of this had to go according to plan, every reaction, every fear, every memory she thought she knew about him.

He pulled out his phone. “Get the doctor to my room,” he said calmly. “She fainted. I don’t want her dead. Not yet.”

“Yes, sir,” came the reply.

He ended the call and stared out the window, the city lights flickering below. He would stop at nothing to avenge.

A smirk tugged at his lips. He would make them pay for killing him, for betraying him; he would take them all down, one after the other.

Footsteps approached , it was the doctor. Lorenzo nodded toward the door. “Do what you need to. She’s not going to leave that room.”

The man hurried inside. Lorenzo remained in the hall, listening to the faint sounds within: the soft rustle of sheets, the doctor’s measured voice.

He turned his head slightly, gazing coldly. “Make sure she wakes up. I want her strong enough to remember,” he said without looking back.

When the doctor left, Lorenzo stepped closer to the door. His fingers brushed the knob, but he didn’t enter. Not yet.

He needed her afraid… but alive.

Confused… but obedient.

And when the time came she’d learn the truth piece by piece, the way Lorenzo had suffered.

He slipped his hands into his pockets and walked away.

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

The next day , Nora woke to the sterile smell of antiseptic and to the tremor of her phone buzzing against the nightstand. It vibrated like a live wire: messages from unknown numbers, a dozen missed calls. Most from Derrick and Aria.

Her heart twisted. She had disappointed Derrick so much that she wouldn't be able to talk to him again . The feeling of guilt flooded her heart.

Her head throbbed; the tail end of panic clung to her like a wet coat.

She fumbled at the screen. Her breath hitched.

Headline: LORENZO ALEXANDER RETURNS—MARRIES NORA DAVIS IN SHOCKING CHURCH STANDOFF.

Below it, a dozen video clips, the chapel doors bursting open, Lorenzo framed in the doorway, the priest’s stunned face, the moment he pulled out a gun. Her face from the footage stared back: pale, broken… a bride under siege.

Her hands slid off the bed. She pushed herself upright, nausea rising hot and fast. She tasted copper and adrenaline.

Someone had filmed everything. The world had watched. Her life was over

She moved before she could think. Bare feet on cold tile, hair tangled. The house smelled faintly of smoke and stale whiskey, a life she hadn’t chosen.

She walked to the bathroom, splashed cold water on her face, and caught sight of herself in the mirror. Yesterday, the gown was white. Now? Stained brown from the night before.

She stepped into the tub and winced as her hand brushed her neck. It still burned.

After bathing, she found a towel and wrapped it around her chest. All she wanted was for someone to wake her up and tell her this was just a nightmare.

But the bitter truth was it wasn’t.

Water dripped down her hair and onto the tiles when, suddenly, the door clicked open without a knock.

And there he was.

The devil himself—Lorenzo

He leaned against the door frame, the faintest ghost of a smirk tugging at his mouth. His shirt sleeves were rolled up, veins tracing his forearms like lightning under his skin. “Good,” he said softly, eyes sliding over her. “You’re awake.”

Nora clutched the towel tighter around her chest, her pulse loud in her ears. “What do you want?”

“We’re leaving.”

She blinked. “Leaving?”

He stepped closer, the air between them tightening. “Pack whatever you need. We’re heading back to Maford City.”

The name hit her like a slap. Maford. The city she’d buried. The one that had eaten her alive and spat her out in pieces.

“No,” she said quietly, shaking her head. “I’m not going back there.”

Lorenzo tilted his head, studying her like something fragile he might break just to see how it sounded. “You don’t have a choice, Mrs. Alexander.”

“Stop calling me that.”

“Why?” he said in a mocking tone. “You were so eager to wear the dress.”

Nora’s jaw locked. “You ruined my life once. I’m not letting you—”

“Ruined your life?” he interrupted, his voice dropping to a dangerous calm. " You once planted a bullet in my chest."

She flinched, but he turned away before she could answer, his tone shifting back to cool command. “You have ten minutes. Julio will pack the rest.”

The door closed behind him, leaving the scent of smoke and power in the air.

Nora stood frozen, heart hammering, towel damp against her skin. Maford City